


A Love Song Stuck in My Throat

by Cinaed



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Complete, Dancing, Fencing, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Threesome - F/M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The corners of Manolo’s eyes crinkled. The hugs had mussed his hair; Maria laughed and smoothed his curl back into place. Manolo attempted a serious look, though it was ruined by the way his mouth kept twitching. He said, mock-solemn, “Joaquin, if you wanted a dance, you should have said.” </p><p>Joaquin started to laugh. It caught in his throat as Manolo took his hand and Maria grasped the other. Both of their hands were callused, and Joaquin remembered, dizzily, how Maria had held the sword aloft like she was born to wield it, and of Manolo’s fingers, certain and deft upon the guitar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dancing With the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So I came out of _Book of Life_ Friday night wanting fic, and this is what happened. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> The title comes from Kris Delmhorst's [Damn Love Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6zLyzgcq2E).

The celebration seemed like it would go on forever.

All around Joaquin there was laughter and song and enough food to put all other feasts to shame. He ate turkey legs slathered with mole sauce, and shared bread and a bowl of queso fundido with Maria’s father. At one point, a child darted past him, her dark eyes shining, her face stained with hot chocolate, and he thought, wonderingly, _She’ll tell her grandchildren of this day, when the dead broke bread and danced with the living at Manolo and Maria’s wedding_.

He danced, clumsy and wrong-footed from the loss of his eye, but no one seemed to mind. The women laughed as he lifted them into the air, their gazes just as admiring as before. The empty spot beneath his eyelid ached with every spin, though the pain was bearable now, thanks to La Muerte.

_Joaquin inspected his mustache in the mirror. He wanted to look his best for the wedding, even though everyone, himself included, would be watching Manolo and Maria. He smoothed a hand down the front of his uniform one more time and tried to focus on his happiness for his friends and not on his own heartache. His fingers stilled among the medals, feeling the absence of the one that had been with him the longest._

_Pain dizzied him, a sharp reminder of what he’d given up. He closed his remaining eye, laughing a little. What was an eye compared to the decades Manolo and Maria would now have together? He would’ve given up his very life for Manolo and Maria. An eye seemed a small price to pay._

_There was the rustle of fabric, and he looked up into La Muerte’s considering smile. Her finger was cool against the bloodied bandage as she touched his face. His breath escaped him in a gasp as the agony sharpened, so intense that his knees nearly buckled. Then the pain receded to a dull, manageable discomfort._

_He stared at La Muerte, amazed and bewildered. Her smile warmed. “That medal could have done much evil if it had remained among the living, even in the hands of a good man,” she said. “And you returned it to my husband without hesitation.” She touched his cheek again gently, as he thought his mother might have if she’d lived past his birth. “Well done.”_

“Dance with me next, Joaquin!” demanded Sofia, the baker’s daughter, bolder than he remembered. She seized his hands and beamed at him. He shook off the memory, smiling as she drew him further into the crowd.

The Rodriguez brothers performed as they never had before. The music crashed over Joaquin like a wave of sound, sweeping him along. He danced until his feet hurt and his breath was labored. Then he danced some more. A pair of dancers moved too close; the woman’s elbow bumped against his hip. When he stepped out of their way, releasing Sofia to avoid a collision, he crashed into another couple instead. He turned, stammering out a flustered apology.

Maria and Manolo smiled at him with matching looks of amusement.

Maria’s curls were dark with sweat, her face aglow with happiness. “I’m sorry, Joaquin! That was my fault,” she said. Then she laughed and nudged at Manolo with an affectionate bump of her hips, pursing her mouth at him. “Well, and yours, Manolo.”

Her voice was sweeter than any music. Joaquin smiled helplessly back. Her laughter caught hold of him as it always did, winding like ropes around his heart. He stood there, ensnared.

Then Manolo, smiling so broadly that his face must hurt, tugged at Joaquin’s arm. Joaquin obediently shuffled forward until they stood in a small circle, so close that he almost bumped his head against Manolo’s as they bent their heads together. “It _was_ mostly my fault,” Manolo agreed cheerfully, half-shouting to be heard over the music and conversation. His hand rested on Joaquin’s arm.

Joaquin welcomed the warm touch, grateful for Manolo and Maria’s nearness. He remembered like a bad dream staring down at Manolo’s face, made strange and unfamiliar by its unnatural stillness, touching that cold, dead hand and thinking, horrified,  _I didn’t mean it, Manolo! I didn't want to lose either of you!_  But here was Manolo, alive and grinning at him as though they'd never fought over Maria or came to blows, as though Joaquin had never told him that he wished him dead instead of Maria.

Joaquin gave in to the impulse that had bloomed in him at that first touch of Manolo’s hand. He swept both Manolo and Maria into his arms, hugging them both with all his strength. He ignored their startled shouts of laughter, the way Maria’s chin bumped awkwardly against his chest and Manolo’s jaw dug into his shoulder. He just held on tight.

“I’m so happy for you both,” he said, and it was true. The small, niggling lonely feeling was easy to ignore when he was faced with their obvious joy. He hugged them one more time, savoring the sound of their laughter, and then carefully lowered them back to the ground.

The corners of Manolo’s eyes crinkled. The hugs had mussed his hair; Maria laughed and smoothed his curl back into place. Manolo attempted a serious look, though it was ruined by the way his mouth kept twitching. He said, mock-solemn, “Joaquin, if you wanted a dance, you should have said!”

Joaquin started to laugh. It caught in his throat as Manolo took his hand and Maria took the other. Both of their hands were callused, and Joaquin remembered, dizzily, how Maria had held the sword aloft like she was born to wield it, of Manolo’s fingers certain and deft upon the guitar. His mouth was dry. He licked his lips and tried to laugh again, but the sound wouldn’t escape his throat. “I didn’t--”

Maria tugged at his hand, stepping sideways and giving a twist of her hips that made her dress flare. She was always beautiful, but Joaquin thought she looked especially so by firelight, the flames casting a warm, ruddy glow to her cheeks. Her teeth gleamed as she shook her head and laughed at them both.

“Less talking, more dancing, please.”

She tugged at Joaquin’s hand again. He couldn't resist her, though he felt off balance, dizzy and overheated, his uniform restrictive and too tight. He was suddenly aware of how long he had been dancing, that his mustache must be wilted and ridiculous-looking from the heat. He wondered if they would let him go find a mirror first, make himself presentable. Maria's grip tensed like she could guess his thoughts. Pinned beneath Maria's expectant look, he sighed and tapped his foot in the dirt, struggling to find the rhythm of the latest song. His boot stirred up a cloud of dust and he stopped, flushing.

Beside him, Manolo laughed. His lashes dipped low, and his warm gaze was contrite as he said, "Whatever you want, Maria." His hand tightened on Joaquin's. The smile he wore now was full of the old mischief Joaquin remembered from childhood, when it had been the three of them rescuing pigs from slaughter and turning the town upside down with their latest adventure. "Let's show San Angel how to dance."

And so they did, Manolo and Maria's hands warm and alive in his, their feet stomping out a lively rhythm as they danced in a small circle. The world blurred around him as they spun, Maria laughing breathlessly and Manolo joining in, their joy infectious, until Joaquin closed his eye and laughed as well. His heart felt so light that it was a wonder that he wasn't floating and dancing on air.

“Manolo!”

Carlos Sanchez’s voice rose above the rest. The musicians halted with a suddenness that was almost shocking, the guitar giving out a protesting twang before falling silent. Joaquin stumbled a little, laughter caught in his chest. The world, which had narrowed to just Manolo and Maria and the music, expanded once more as the conversations paused, the dancers slowed and stilled. It felt as though everyone watched Manolo step forward to meet his father, his hand slipping from both Joaquin and Maria's.

Carlos clapped a bony hand to Manolo’s shoulder. A smile touched that skeletal jaw.

For a second Joaquin remembered Carlos as he had been before, with his large, fleshy face, how he would purse his lips in disapproval whenever he caught Manolo playing his guitar, the way pride chased the furrow from his brow whenever Manolo proved his skill in the ring. It would be strange, he thought with a sudden pang, to bury the man tomorrow.

“Manolo,” Carlos said again. There was a new note in his voice, something like regret. Carmen stepped closer as well, raising white-boned fingers to Manolo’s cheek and smiling. ”It’s almost dawn.”

With a start, Joaquin realized Carlos was right. Somehow the hours had flown by. The stars were fading, consumed by the lightening sky. Colors crept in at the edges of the horizon, dawn stretching out its fingers. Soon the Day of the Dead would be over, and even La Muerte and Xibalba would have to obey the laws and return the dead to the Land of the Remembered.

Manolo said nothing. He looked stricken, as though somehow he’d forgotten in his happiness that his parents couldn’t stay.

Joaquin found himself stepping forward, not certain what he was going to say, but wanting to say _something_ to ease the pain in Manolo’s face. Then he hesitated, because surely Maria should say something instead. But when he looked for her, realizing belatedly that he no longer held her hand, Maria was shoving her way through the crowd with a purposeful stride and a judiciously applied elbow to anyone who moved too slowly out of her way. 

In another second she'd returned to Manolo’s side. She gripped Manolo’s guitar in one hand; the other gently stroked Manolo’s shoulder. She and Manolo’s parents surrounded him then, Carlos and Maria at either shoulder, Carmen in front of him.

Joaquin took a step back, feeling silly. What could he have said that would've helped? He imagined saying something stupid, like,  _Well, you'll see them in a couple decades! And then you'll all enjoy each other's company in the Land of the Remembered forever. It could be worse!_ and grimaced. 

Maria smiled at Manolo so tenderly that Joaquin’s chest ached. “One last song, then,” she said. “As a goodbye.”

Manolo blinked. The strain left his face slowly, like someone coming out of a bad dream. Color returned to his face. He stared at Maria for a moment, as though drawing strength from her smile. Then he smiled back, the gesture half-lost beneath his mother’s hand. “A song?”

“Yes! Maria is right. You must sing us a song.” Pride warmed Carlos’s voice. “I told you a long time ago that you would do great things, son, things people would sing about, and I was right!” He paused. Joaquin had never imagined that a dead man could look embarrassed, but somehow Carlos managed it, his broad shoulders slumping, the bones of his face twisting into an apologetic look. Carlos continued, softer, yet the words still reached Joaquin’s ears. “But you were right as well. You’ll make your own songs. You are a musician, not a bullfighter. The song you sang before-- I--” He paused. His hand half-lifted from his side, as though groping for words. “Please, sing us something before we go. Whatever song you wish.”

Manolo and his father exchanged a long look, and Joaquin wondered what had passed between them in the Land of the Forgotten. He had heard only bits and pieces of the story, how Manolo had sacrificed himself for Maria and then won a wager against Xibalba to return to her, but there had to be more to the tale.

After a moment Manolo nodded. “All right.” The smile he wore was unfamiliar, tinged with grief, but it was nevertheless a smile, and the sight of it eased something in Joaquin, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Joaquin bowed his head as Manolo coaxed the first note from the guitar. The song was bittersweet, the words filled with tender regret as he sang his goodbye to his ancestors, all gathered around to say farewell. The melody hurt. It touched a part of Joaquin he’d been trying to ignore all evening, that selfish lonely part. He was happy for Manolo and Maria, he _was_ , and yet. And yet, he thought, pressing his fist to his chest where the ache was worst.

A hand touched his elbow. When he looked up, Carmen embraced him and said, “Joaquin! Oh, how you’ve grown!" She tugged at the corner of his mustache and smiled, somehow so like Manolo's mischievous grin that he had to smile back. "And what a nice mustache you have. Very impressive.”

Joaquin blinked, startled but pleased. “Thank you,” he said. He'd always liked Manolo’s mother, though he had few memories of her. What he remembered most wasn't a memory about her at all, but of the time he and Maria had teased Manolo that he was going to go white early like his mother. Manolo had spent the next three weeks peering anxiously into every mirror he could find, checking for white hairs, before Carmen had caught him at it and laughed until she'd cried.

Manolo's song floundered mid-note, his fingers faltering on the strings, and Joaquin winced. He looked past Carmen, to where Manolo frowned down at his guitar. "You should be with him," he said, without thinking. His face warmed at her expression. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tell you what to do--"

"Joaquin," she said. He bit back the rest of his fumbling apology. The tips of her fingers felt strange against his cheek, cool and smooth, less like bone and more like polished wood. She looked at him for a long moment. "I wanted to thank you, for protecting Manolo."

"I--"

_It was the right thing to do._

_I didn't want Maria to suffer._

_I'd already lost him once. I couldn't take losing him again._

He shook his head and tried to answer her. What came out, instead, was, "Have you seen my father in the Land of the Remembered?" When she nodded, looking puzzled, he cleared his throat. "Will you tell him that Chakal is dead? He'd...I think he'd want to know."

Understanding softened Carmen's voice. "Of course, Joaquin. I'm sure he'll be very proud of you when we tell him what you did."

"No, I--" Joaquin said, because that wasn't what he'd meant, but Carmen had already returned to Manolo's side. She stroked his hair out of his face and said something in a low whisper that made Manolo smile and take up the guitar again. This time the song was less melancholy and more hopeful, the notes drawing small smiles from his listeners. 

Manolo was still playing when the sun rose. The sunlight spilled over the crowd and caught upon exposed white bones of the dead. The dead seemed to glow, the light catching upon the pale surfaces of their faces, the light growing so bright that Joaquin had to close his eye or be blinded. Manolo's guitar trailed off with one last lingering note.

When Joaquin opened his eye and the spots faded from his vision, Manolo and Maria were alone. Manolo was bent over his guitar, his eyes closed. He wore an unreadable expression, though he smiled and straightened when Maria touched his shoulder. He looked into her face, and his smile grew stronger. She lifted her face to his, saying something that made Manolo laugh, and kissed him.

When the kiss ended, Manolo pressed his forehead to Maria's and grinned.

Joaquin watched them, trying to fix this picture of Manolo and Maria in his mind, how happy they looked, how content. The dawn painted them in warm light, catching in their hair and bringing out the color in their faces. They'd never looked more alive. Relief touched him, his heart so full that it felt close to bursting, at the knowledge that they were both safe. He remembered the way Carmen had looked at him, her voice as she'd thanked him for protecting Manolo. But there hadn't been any other choice, really, not one he could have lived with. 

He looked at Manolo and Maria for another minute. Then he shook his head at himself and smoothed his hand over his mustache, exhaustion catching up with him. He retreated into the crowd, offering a good-night to Maria's father and then to Pancho Rodriguez.

The Day of the Dead was over, he thought as he walked towards his house. It was time for the living to sleep. 


	2. As the Sword Needs Swiftness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the Day of the Dead, Joaquin and Maria fence and discuss a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this was totally meant to be three chapters, right. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> My eternal gratitude to drcalvin, who looked at medical reports for me about eye trauma so I could figure out what issues Joaquin would be dealing with.

When Joaquin had begun his training, he'd graduated pretty quickly from fencing with dummies to training against General Posada's men. The last time he remembered even seeing a practice dummy was two or three years ago, when he had been re-enacting one of his more exciting fights and none of the brigade had been up to playing the part of a bandit.

It took him a while to find the dummies, buried under a rug in the general's attic. Judging by the musty smell and the faded, tattered quality of the first dummy's shirt, that reenactment had probably been the last time anyone had used them. He wrinkled his nose, wondering if maybe he should figure out some other way to practice, one less...smelly.

Then he sighed and chose the least musty one. He threw it over his shoulder and trudged out of the general's house. He was grateful that most of the townsfolk seemed to have slept in, recovering from the Day of the Dead. The three people Joaquin passed offered him half-awake greetings, too sleepy to even stare at the dummy and wonder what he was doing.

He walked past the ruined gates of the town and crossed the bridge without seeing anyone else. There was the tree that greeted everyone coming to the mainland, still standing tall and proud. He and Manolo had sometimes snuck away to play here when they were younger, he remembered. Joaquin would stretch out in the shade and listen to Manolo play his newest tune.

Positioning the dummy from one of the tree's limbs so that it dangled at about a normal man's height, he stood back. The dummy swung slightly in the wind, its painted face so faded he could barely make out the eyes and mouth. It was a little creepy, he thought, and then laughed at himself for being unnerved by a dummy of all things when the town had faced Chakal and his bandits the day before.

He took another step back. The ground had dried after the fierce, sudden rain of the day before; the earth felt solid beneath his boots. It was a quiet spot, away from San Angel, and a good place for his practice. Well, it was a good place as long as Joaquin didn't think too hard about what else had happened here. He looked down at the ground and couldn't help but wonder if he was standing in the same spot where Maria had stood when the snake bit her. And then there was Manolo-- but at least someone had removed Manolo's memorial. There wasn't even a candle left. That was something.

He pushed those thoughts away and drew his sword. Circling the dummy slowly, he tried to figure out how losing his eye would impact his fighting. Between tripping over his own feet getting out of bed and walking into the door not once, but twice earlier, losing the one eye had obviously done _something_. He pressed closer to the dummy, and then nearer, varying the distance. He raised his sword higher, wondering a little at the way the blade felt strange in his hand.

His neck pinched at him, and he stilled, still unused to pain. He'd been in the middle of turning his head to peer at the dummy, compensating for his lost eye. He probably looked ridiculous, squinting like at things with his head half-cocked like a bird, he thought, frowning. He was glad again that he'd chosen a remote spot to practice.

He shook out his shoulders and rolled his neck, trying to loosen up the tight muscles. Then he resumed a fighting stance. He bent his knee and lunged. This, at least, was familiar, his muscles remembering the movement. The flat of the blade struck the dummy's shoulder hard, but even as Joaquin felt the impact reverberate through his arm, he scowled. He'd aimed for the dummy's chest.

He stepped back, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.

"Your footwork is sloppy."

Joaquin, offended, wheeled to face the intruder. He froze at the sight of Maria, standing at the foot of the bridge with one hand on her hip and both eyebrows raised. His face heated. He forgot what he'd been about to say. "Oh, um, Maria. Hello." His thoughts fled, like they often did at the sight of her smile. He straightened, resisting the urge to smooth a hand over his mustache and to check his reflection in his sword. Then he remembered her criticism, and winced. He scratched at his jaw. "My footwork. Right. Well, my stance didn't exactly matter when I was wearing the medal, since the bandits couldn't hurt me, so I may have, uh, slacked off there...."

He trailed off as Maria's lips compressed into a frown. She ran a slow, scrutinizing look down his frame. He remembered how easily she had knocked his blade and Manolo's guitar from their grips, how natural the sword had looked in her hand. He squirmed. "But I'll work on it!" A thought struck him. It was his turn to frown. "Shouldn't you be with Manolo?" He remembered an earlier, disastrous conversation -- had it only been two days ago? -- and added hastily, "Not that as his wife you're at his beck and call or anything like that, but I just thought, what with his father and his great-grandmother dying, he'd want you, uh, to be there--"

"Joaquin."

He stopped, swallowed down the rest of the words that wanted to stammer their way off his tongue.

To his relief, Maria's expression had lightened a little, as though amused by his spluttering. "Manolo asked me to see how you were doing."

"How _I'm_  doing?" Joaquin said, surprised. Then he laughed and shook his head. Fondness caught at his chest. He couldn't help but smile. "Of course he did. Tell him I'm fine, just--" He waved his sword vaguely at the dummy. Then he realized it was probably rude to wave a sword around. He sheathed it and then flexed his arm. "You know, practicing, keeping in shape. Can't slack off, you know."

Maria didn't say anything for a moment. She studied the dummy, and then the ground, looking at the marks Joaquin's boots had left on the earth. She looked thoughtful. "When did you get the medal?"

He scratched at his jaw, wondering if she'd be angry. He'd kept the medal a secret from both Manolo and Maria, after all. "Uh, the Day of the Dead before you went to Spain."

Maria didn't look surprised, thankfully. Then again, she'd probably remembered the day where he and Manolo had rescued her father from the warthog and put two and two together. "Right. So you just need to relearn a few things, like footwork, and adjust to--" She hesitated a second. Her gaze lingered on his face. Then she nodded, once, very sharply, as though coming to a decision. "You'll need a partner."

"Yeah. I'd ask one of your father's men, but they're, uh, well, they're good men, but they're a little...." Joaquin paused, hunting for the right word. After a second he gave up and shrugged. "They're not exactly going to point out if I make a mistake, so that's not-- what?"

Maria laughed again. "Joaquin, you goofball, I meant _me_."

Joaquin stared. He wondered how he'd missed the sword hilts peeking over Maria's shoulder. Now they seemed obvious.

She smiled. "This is perfect. I was going to ask if we could practice together even if you hadn't needed a partner. Father's letters was one of the reasons I learned, you know. I thought your fencing lessons sounded exciting."

"Really?" Joaquin said, blinking. He flushed, pleased that he had inspired Maria to do something.

"Yes, really." The swords were practice blades made of polished wood; the one she drew from its sheath gleamed in the sunlight. She pointed the sword at him. Her smile was as sharp as steel, her eyes bright with excitement. "Just give me a few minutes to warm up." Then she tossed the sword to him.

Grinning, he went to snatch the practice blade out of the air. He missed completely. The sword struck his chest with a dull impact. He grabbed for it again, fumbling, but got a hold of the hilt. He frowned down at the sword, his pride smarting more than his chest. Aware that Maria watched, he forced a laugh. "Guess I need to work on the whole hand-eye thing too."

He couldn't read her expression. Maria was quiet, just looking at him for a second. Then she took her hair down; it tumbled past her shoulders in a dark wave. She pulled her hair back into a tight braid, making certain none of the curls would fall into her eyes, her movements quick and almost impatient.

He grew distracted by the flex of her arm, the small furrow she got between her eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth. This practice was probably a bad idea, he thought as Maria drew her sword and began to move through her paces, slowly at first and then faster, darting the occasional smile his way. It wasn't that he thought they could really hurt each other with wooden blades, but he remembered her sweat-darkened curls, how beautiful she'd looked flushed from dancing. He swallowed, his throat tight, the morning sun seeming suddenly too hot on his face. This was definitely a bad idea.

"Maria," he said slowly, trying to figure out how to say no. "Maybe we shouldn't...."

Maria paused in the middle of a practice lunge. Her lips thinned into a frown again. "Why not?" She raised an eyebrow. "If you're worried you'll hurt me, don't be. I can hold my own against you or any man."

"I know you can," he said again, meaning it, and licked his lips. "I know you can protect yourself. I just--" He stopped, frustrated. He'd never been good with words. That had always been Manolo with his songs and now Maria, too, with her books. He frowned at his feet. "Maria, about yesterday, I'm-- I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

He muttered, "I know you were going to marry me for San Angel and not because-- I should have told you I'd stay even if you didn't marry me. I should have--" He stopped as she touched his arm. When he looked up, she was watching him intently.

"You ran towards Manolo," she said.

Joaquin blinked at her, not sure what she meant. "What?"

"When Manolo was going to sacrifice himself to stop Chakal, you ran towards him, even though you knew Manolo had the medal and would be safe."

"I--" The words stuck in his throat. _Don't stop fighting for what's right_ , Manolo had said, and then shoved him away from Chakal and to safety. He remembered looking up from the ground in time to see Manolo's gaze fix upon Maria like he'd wanted her to be the last thing he saw before the bell came down. Joaquin closed his eye. "I wasn't really thinking about the medal."

His thoughts scattered as Maria kissed his cheek. The press of her lips were brief. Still, the soft touch seemed to linger even as he opened his eye, like it'd left a mark somehow. He stared at the warm look in her eyes, her small smile. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Maria waited a second. When he said nothing, she tapped his elbow with the sword, very gently, and smiled. "You would have done the right thing in the end, Joaquin. I'm sure of it." Before Joaquin could react to that, she tapped his elbow more forcefully. Her smile broadened to a dangerous grin. "Now, are you ready to practice?"

Joaquin recovered his voice. "Yes." He adjusted his grip on the practice sword as Maria stepped back into a defensive position. They saluted each other. Relief touched him again that Maria wasn't angry. He remembered the misery in Maria's face as she'd answered Father Domingo, how it had struck at him like a blow, and thought-- hoped-- he would've done the right thing and said no if the wedding hadn't been interrupted.

"Joaquin, watch your feet," Maria said.

"Right," he said, flushing and focusing on the here and now.

He adjusted his stance almost too late. In the next second Maria advanced and lunged. Joaquin jumped back, realizing too late it was a feint meant to throw him off-balance. Maria pressed him fiercely, laughing as she did so. She was quick, her sword a blur as she darted at him again and again.

He parried all of her attacks, barely, and grinned in admiration as she drove him backwards. "Who taught you to fence?"

"Sister Valentina of the Convent of the Perpetual Flame of Purity."

Joaquin stumbled. One of Maria's attacks nearly landed, but he barely noticed. He tried to imagine it, a nun wielding a sword and parrying a thrust from Maria. "A _nun_?"

Maria laughed, a little breathless. She retreated for a second. She wiped sweat from her forehead, flicked it to the ground. "Well, she wasn't always a nun."

"Right," Joaquin said, still struggling to picture this Sister Valentina. Instead he imagined Sister Ana with a sword. He laughed and tried a feint, retreating quickly when Maria didn't fall for it. "Maybe you should teach the sisters here."

Maria pursed her lips. She was taking his joke seriously, he realized. After a second, she shook her head. "The sisters are a little too old to begin lessons, but the orphans might like to learn."

Joaquin grinned. Now _that_  he could imagine: the orphans standing in front of Maria as she corrected their stances and adjusted their grips on their practice swords, their faces filled with adoration. "You'll have your own brigade in a few years." He saluted her again. "Capitánana."

Maria giggled. A pleased flush crept into her cheeks. "Stop."

Joaquin took advantage of her distraction with a sudden lunge. He intended to disarm her, his gaze fixed upon her sword hand. He missed entirely, his practice sword striking thin air. His knee buckled and he nearly fell.

Maria dropped her sword and steadied him with both hands. "Are you all right?"

Embarrassed by the concern in her eyes, he wrenched himself free and stepped back. He stared down at his sword, turning it over in his hands. He must have looked ridiculous, flailing at nothing. He forced another smile, though humiliation was sour in his mouth. "Of course I'm all right. My trick worked. Look, you're disarmed!" He tapped her shoulder with his sword and tried to smile more convincingly. "I win."

"Joaquin," Maria sighed. The corner of her mouth twitched as though she didn't know whether to smile or frown. "Sister Valentina knew a swordsman who lost his eye. She said he was still a good fighter, but he had some trouble with close combat. You--"

"He could still fight?" The question slipped out, unthinking. Joaquin caught his breath, bracing himself for Maria's answer. Though he wasn't sure what he'd do if she said no. He was a soldier. What did soldiers do if they couldn't fight anymore?

Quietly, as though guessing his thoughts, Maria said, "Yes. He learned to fight despite his eye. I'll write to the sister and see if she has any advice." She bent and picked up her sword from where she had dropped it. "I'm sure she'd be happy to help."

Relief dizzied him. So he could still fight. That was something. He cleared his throat. "Thanks. Though I'll have to get her advice from you when I visit again."

"When you visit again...?" Maria looked up from brushing dirt from her sword. Her smile faded and shifted to a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'll be gone by the time her letter gets here, of course," Joaquin said. He watched in surprise as Maria's eyes narrowed.

" _Gone_? Joaquin, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not staying in San Angel. Chakal's dead, but most of his bandits escaped, and-- ow!" Joaquin yelped as Maria struck him hard on the arm with the flat of her blade. He stared at her, baffled by her anger. His arm hurt where she'd hit him. He wondered if it would bruise. He almost touched the spot, but he kept still, a little worried she'd hit him again. "What? What did I say?"

Maria glared at him. There wasn't even a hint of amusement in her face now, and he quailed at the anger that flashed in her eyes. "Have you forgotten you're not invincible anymore?" she demanded.

"Um," Joaquin said. Somehow he suspected there was no right answer to that question. He smiled uncertainly at her and waved a hand towards his eye patch. "No, that's pretty hard to forget, but I can't just let the bandits attack other towns. They lost Chakal as their leader, but someone else might take over, and--"

Maria shoved him. His back hit the tree trunk and he stared in astonishment as she rose on the tips of her toes to get in his face. Her voice was low and dangerously even, like it had been when he'd messed up during dinner. "So you're going to go off and track them down yourself, of course. Alone."

"Well, yeah, that's the plan," Joaquin began, and then hesitated as Maria scowled. "It's the right thing to do?" he tried. This time he wasn't really surprised when she let out an exasperated sigh, though at least she didn't hit him again.

"I'm not saying that the bandits don't need to be stopped, Joaquin. I'm saying that you shouldn't do it on your own. You're still strong, the medal didn't give you those muscles, but you can't go against twenty men on your own anymore. Not without getting hurt." His breath caught in his throat as she reached out. Her fingertips were very warm as they traced the outline of the eye patch. Her voice softened. "Will you take my father's men with you, at least?"

He laughed a little, or tried to. He wanted to shake his head, but that would mean moving away from Maria's touch, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. He shouldn't be feeling like this, he told himself, not when she'd chosen Manolo. The thought didn't really help. He swallowed and said, "Maria, I like the guys, but I can't ask them to leave San Angel. This is their home."

"It's your home too," Maria reminded him. When he didn't say anything, not sure what to say and still flustered by her touch, she sighed and stepped back. She looked towards San Angel. "Manolo should be done with Father Domingo by now. Please, come with me?"

He'd refused her first request. He couldn't refuse this one. Joaquin nodded. "Just let me get the dummy first."

Maria didn't smile, but at least she wasn't glaring at him anymore. "Good." She said something under her breath that sounded like, _Maybe Manolo will talk some sense into you_. Joaquin didn't ask her to repeat it.

Manolo was seated on the steps of the church when Joaquin saw him. His head was bowed, his expression pensive and a little tired. When Maria called his name, he looked up and smiled. The smile chased the weariness from his face, and he sprang to his feet. "I was about to go looking for you both," he said.

"Well, we found you first," Maria said, laughing a little and stepping into his arms.

Manolo touched her hair lightly, an amused question in his eyes, and Joaquin realized that Maria still had her hair up in the braid. "You did. What were you doing?"

Joaquin cleared his throat. He didn't think about Maria's hand against his skin, the quick, brief kiss upon his cheek, how beautiful she'd looked with the sword in her hand. She'd meant the kiss and concerned touch as a friend. "Fencing practice. Did she tell you she's going to form her own brigade with the orphans?"

"Joaquin!" Maria turned and slapped at him, laughing. "Don't listen to him, Manolo, he doesn't know what he's talking about."

He dodged, dropping the dummy, and raised his hands. "What? You said you were going to teach the orphans to fence. That sounds like a brigade to me."

Manolo laughed. "With you two teaching them, I bet Ignacio and Luka will be the finest fencers in all of Mexico. Excepting yourselves of course!" He stopped, and looked between Joaquin, who was trying not to wince, and Maria, who was frowning again. He raised an eyebrow. "What? Did I miss something?"

"Joaquin is--" Maria began.

Joaquin cut in hastily. Manolo had already had a long day, preparing the wake and funerals for his family. There wasn't any reason to bother him with this today. They could argue about it later. The day after the funerals. Or never, though he knew better than to hope for that. "I'm not exactly the best fighter anymore, buddy." He tapped his eye patch, and, seeing Manolo's smile twist, added, "Though I'm still great, of course."

"Of course," Manolo said, grinning again. "Just wait until everyone starts singing the ballad of San Angel, about how Maria, the most beautiful and talented lady in the world, and Joaquin, the hero of San Angel, defeated Chakal, the bandit king."

"And Manolo, the guitarrista who beat Xibalba himself at a wager and stopped Chakal for good," Joaquin added. Then he blinked. "Wait, you're really writing a song about it?" At Manolo's nod, he grinned. "I can't wait to hear it." He paused and touched his mustache. "You _are_ going to mention my mustache, right? And my medals?" 

The corners of Manolo's eyes crinkled. "Of course. How do you think I introduced you in the song? 'Joaquin Mondragon, the hero of San Angel, he of the grandest mustache the world has ever seen.'"

Joaquin squinted at him. "...Okay, I know you're not serious, buddy, but I've got to say, I like it."

Maria snorted. When Joaquin looked at her, she was staring at him, amused but exasperated. She squeezed Manolo's arm and kissed his cheek. "I look forward to it. But now I'd like to eat."

"Right, I'll just," Joaquin said, backing up and waving in the direction of his house. He stopped at Manolo and Maria's mutual stares. "What?"

"Joaquin, will you eat with us?" Maria asked, slowly, like she thought the invitation had been obvious. 

"Oh, I thought..." He rubbed at his jaw, resisting the urge to fidget beneath their gazes. The back of his neck warmed. "It's your first day being married. You're sure you want company?"

Manolo grinned, like Joaquin had made a joke. He stepped forward, dragging Joaquin into a one-armed hug. "What are you talking about? You're not company," he said in Joaquin's ear. "Did Maria hit your head?" Manolo tried to give him a little shake, as though to knock some sense into him. After a second Joaquin let himself be shaken, laughing a little as Manolo huffed into his ear. With a satisfied look, Manolo released him. 

Joaquin shouldn't have been so pleased, but he stood there, grinning a little stupidly. "She didn't."

"Maybe next time," Maria said, slipping between them and linking arms with them both. She looked up at Joaquin. For a second her look clearly said that she hadn't forgotten about his plans to leave San Angel in the near future. Then she squeezed his arm and smiled. "But right now, let's eat. I want to hear all about what's happened in San Angel while I was gone. Father's letters were mostly about his brigade and rumors about Chakal." 

Manolo immediately launched into a story as they began to walk towards Manolo's house, still arm in arm. His free hand sketched out the main figures of the story, which were apparently Father Domingo and Sister Ana, who'd disagreed over church repairs. 

Joaquin watched Manolo's smile, the flash of his teeth as he laughed at his own joke, and Maria's face, the amused and affectionate look she directed towards Manolo. He looked his fill, and then tucked this memory alongside the one of the night before. He would remember this as he chased down the surviving bandits, just like he'd kept Maria's bonnet.

Maria bumped him with her hip. When he blinked, she smiled at him. "Well? You must have a story or two as well."

He opened his mouth to answer and then looked suspiciously at Manolo, who wore a mischievous grin. Slowly, he said, half-eyeing Manolo, "Well, I mostly have stories about, you know, heroic stuff. My stories about San Angel aren't very interesting. You probably heard about my training from your father--"

"Tell her about the fishing trip," Manolo said.

Joaquin frowned, wondering if there was a way to subtly kick Manolo in the shins. Probably not, since Maria was still between them. He settled for glaring instead. "We agreed to never talk about that again," he hissed. He added, probably unconvincingly, judging by Maria's interested look, "It's a boring story, Maria. You wouldn't want--"

Manolo interrupted. "Joaquin can ride a horse backwards or upside down, but he gets seasick as soon as he takes one step into a boat. You should have seen how green he got!"

"Oh no, really?" Maria bit her lip, like she was trying not to laugh. She let go of Joaquin's arm long enough to pat him. "Poor Joaquin."  

"Manolo!" he complained. The word came out as an unmanly whine. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Maria, that was a million years ago. I bet I would be fine on a boat now." He reached over and mussed Manolo's perfect hair as revenge, ignoring his squawk of protest. He looked at Maria, who was now giggling at them both and shaking her head. "And I didn't get  _that_ green. Really." 

"I believe you," Maria said solemnly. She immediately ruined it by laughing.

Joaquin mussed up Manolo's hair a little more, just because.  


	3. Where We Love is Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joaquin doesn't exactly _mean_ to invite Manolo and Maria to Casa Mondragon after the wake, it just sort of...happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...okay, four chapters. (Apparently I have lost my ability to write short fic.)

The entire town came to the wake. It was a wonder that the Casa Sanchez could hold everyone. Actually, Joaquin was pretty sure it couldn't and that some people were outside. Everywhere he turned there was a press of people, talking and praying and telling stories.

Joaquin could barely hear himself think. He ended up trapped in the corner by Alonso Ruiz, who was so old he'd seen some of Manolo's great-grandmother's last bullfights. Unfortunately, he insisted on recounting every single one in a deaf bellow.

"She was a beast in the ring," Alonso shouted wistfully after the fifth or sixth story. Joaquin had honestly lost track. Most bullfights sounded the same when you heard them all in a row: the matador was impressive, the bull died, the crowds cheered, the end. "A _beast_." Alonso frowned. Disapproval colored his voice, narrowed his watery eyes. "And now there will be no more Sanchez matadors. Manolo may have helped to save the town, that was impressive, of course, but it's a shame that he's giving up the legacy and wasting his talents instead as a _musician_...."

It was Joaquin's turn to frown. Manolo had told him and Maria the entire story of his trip to the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten. He remembered the bleak way Manolo had described the thousands of bulls that had crowded the underworld's ring, the suffering and pained rage in their eyes. The thought that Alonso actually wanted Manolo to go back into the ring and kill a bull was-- He scowled.

"Weren't you there during the Day of the Dead? His family is proud of him, and his music," he said, interrupting. "And he didn't _help_  save San Angel, he _saved_  it." When Alonso stared blankly at him, he shook his head. It wasn't worth it to argue himself hoarse. He shouted, "Never mind! I just--" He waved vaguely at the crowd, like he'd seen someone he wanted to talk to, and then bolted.

He spotted Maria in the opposite corner of the room. Relief replaced most of his annoyance, and he began dodging people and working his way towards her. Her head was bent over Sister Ana's, her expression intent. Whatever Sister Ana said made her toss back her head and laugh, though he couldn't hear the sound over the noise. He wished he could. Arguing with Alonso had left a bad taste in his mouth.

He moved slowly through the crowd until he reached them, just in time for Maria to pat the sister's arm and say, "...not suggesting fencing, but I saw you fight Chakal's bandits. If you and the sisters are interested in self-defense classes-- oh, Joaquin. There you are!"

Joaquin's heart skipped a beat at her pleased smile. He smiled back. It took him a second to remember that he should probably say something. "Maria. Sister Ana. Sorry to interrupt. I just needed a break from hearing about bullfights."

Sympathy and understanding warmed Maria's expression. "Let me guess. You've been talking to Señor Ruiz. Or Señora Aiza. She told me about seeing Carlos in three different bullfights." She sighed, her smile fading. "I know this is a time to remember them, but...."

"Maybe every story doesn't have to be about a bullfight?" Joaquin suggested.

"Exactly. But--" Maria looked past Joaquin. Her smile vanished.

Joaquin turned. Alonso had Manolo by the shoulder and was yelling into his ear. Joaquin knew exactly what the old man was saying, but he also recognized the look on Manolo's face. It was the forced smile he wore when he was unhappy and trying not to show it, like when Carlos had threatened to take away his guitar for good and Manolo had asked Joaquin to hide it for a week or two until his father calmed down.

Maria muttered something under her breath. Joaquin didn't catch the words, but her tone was dark. She stomped past him, a determined glint in her eyes. She tried to push through the crowd, but there were too many people; she took a step back and frowned. The speculative way she eyed the crowd reminded Joaquin of how she had elbowed people to get back to Manolo's side during the wedding.

Before she could actually wade into the crowd, he tapped her shoulder. "Maria, I've got this." At her raised eyebrow, he offered up a reassuring grin. He tapped his medals and puffed out his chest. "Every single one of these babies had a ceremony and a party to go with them. I am _great_  at getting through a crowd." He waggled his eyebrows, startling a laugh from her. "Watch the master at work."

Still laughing, Maria smiled up at him. "Excuse us, sister. Joaquin, please, after you," she said with a wave of her hand.

Her warm voice felt like a touch of her hand against his cheek. He flushed. Then he forced back the heat from his face. "Right." He made it across the room in record-time, donning an expression that he knew from experience would earn him smiles but would also get everyone out of his way. Slinging an arm around Manolo's neck and dragging him a step back from Alonso, he said the first thing that popped into his head.

"Manny, I think it's time for bed."

Manolo relaxed into his touch; Joaquin felt his weight settle against his side. Manolo tilted his head towards Joaquin. Up close, Joaquin could see the pinched look on his face, though it faded a little as Manolo smiled, the slant of his mouth amused but a little rueful. "Bed? We're in the middle of a wake. I don't--"

"Uh huh, yeah, good points," Joaquin said over Manolo's protests. He turned his head, watching as Maria slipped between Manolo and Alonso and offered the old man a polite but somehow dangerous smile. Looking first confused and then a little worried, Alonso muttered something and disappeared into the crowd.

Joaquin smothered a laugh behind his fist. Manolo shifted a little against him, like he intended to step away now that Alonso was gone. Joaquin automatically tightened his grip around Manolo's shoulder. Now that he thought about it, Manolo getting away from Alonso and Señora Aiza and all this bullfighting talk seemed like a good idea. "Manny, the last few days have been pretty rough. And you still have to get through the funeral tomorrow. So Maria and I decided you're taking an early night."

Maria's lip thinned. For a second Joaquin worried that he'd offended her by putting words in her mouth. Then she spoke and he realized she was watching Manolo, a concerned crease between her eyes. She touched Manolo's cheek lightly. "Joaquin's right, my love. You need to rest. Go sleep. We'll send everyone home."

"I--" Manolo glanced between them. His smile turned crooked. "I just don't know how much sleep I'm going to get."

Joaquin blinked before understanding hit him. He thought of the caskets, covered in flowers and on display in the next room. He grimaced. A distant memory touched him then, of being very small and uncomfortable in his church clothes. His grandmother had pushed him towards his father's casket and told him to pay his last respects. He'd stood there for what seemed like hours, frozen in place, not knowing what to say, until Manolo and Maria had dragged him away. They'd hidden together for the rest of the wake, Manolo and Maria distracting him with stories. 

"Sleep at my house," he said without thinking. He flushed a little at Manolo and Maria's matching looks of surprise. Scratching at the back of his neck, he shrugged and smiled awkwardly. "Well, mi casa es tu casa, right?"

Manolo's laughter reverberated against his chest. "Right."

"That's settled then," Maria said, satisfied. She patted Manolo's cheek. "Go and pack some clothes. Joaquin and I will handle things down here."

It was pretty easy to clear out the house. It helped that everyone got starry-eyed whenever Maria so much as smiled at them, and Joaquin was, after all, still one of San Angel's heroes. The suggestion that everyone should get a good night's rest before the funeral sent most people instantly towards the exits. Even Chuy helped, grumbling at Pepe and chewing on his pant's leg when the musician moved too slowly.

Manolo appeared with a bag of clothes slung over his shoulder just as Maria ushered the last person out. He smiled at them both. Joaquin was glad to see it wasn't the pinched, forced smile of before, but something warm and real. "Thank you," he said.

Joaquin waved it off, embarrassed by the way Manolo looked at him, his eyes bright. "Any time, Manny." He reached for the bag, and raised an eyebrow when Manolo moved it out of reach. "Come on, I can carry that."

"So can I," Manolo said. He took a step back as Joaquin made another grab for the bag. Now he made a face, half-smiling but a little frustrated too. A tinge of exasperation colored his voice. "You're acting like I'm fragile again. I thought you'd figured out I can take care of myself."

"I don't think you're fragile!" Joaquin protested. He looked over to Maria, but she just raised an eyebrow, like she thought Manolo had a point. Even Chuy, leaning against Maria's shins, wore a skeptical look. He frowned. He guessed he had been treating Manolo a little differently during the wake, after he'd seen that fake smile. Joaquin smoothed a hand over his mustache and shrugged. "I'm just trying to-- you've had a rough few days."

"So have you."

Joaquin laughed until he realized Manolo was serious. Then he shook his head. "Manny, you _died_. That trumps anything I went through."

"I got better." Manolo wasn't smiling anymore. He stepped close to Joaquin. "You lost an eye." He reached up as though to touch Joaquin's eye patch.

Joaquin stepped back so quickly he tripped. He stumbled, and Manolo steadied him. He shrugged off Manolo's hand, roughly enough that Manolo took a step back and stared at him. An embarrassed heat prickled under Joaquin's skin. He said, stiffly, "I'm fine. I'm not going to break either, even if I'm not invincible anymore."

Manolo frowned. "I didn't--" 

They both jumped as Maria shoved herself between them and snatched the bag from Manolo. She pursed her lips at them both, though she didn't seem angry, exactly. Joaquin wasn't sure what the look on her face meant. "I'll carry the bag," she said. She tilted her head. "Unless you think _I'm_ too fragile to carry it...." 

Joaquin and Manolo exchanged a look. "No," they said together. 

"Good. Come on, Chuy." 

Chuy looked at Joaquin and Manolo. His expression seemed to say,  _You two are idiots_. Then he turned and waddled after Maria.

After a second, Manolo let out a slow breath. "Sorry," he said, not quite looking at Joaquin. "I guess the wake bothered me more than I thought. I didn't mean to take it out on you." He sighed. "I wanted to remember Papa, but everyone just wanted to talk about his bullfighting, not--" His voice gave a little hitch. When Joaquin looked at him, he was frowning down at his feet. "Do you remember, when you came to visit and told us about Chakal destroying those two towns? How Papa was the first one to suggest San Angel take in the orphans?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Joaquin said. "And then we all built a new orphanage since the old one was too small. You dropped a hammer on your hand the first day." He paused, remembering Carlos's fierce scowl as he'd bent over Manolo's hand, the relief in his voice when he'd declared nothing was broken. Joaquin cleared his throat. "Your father was a good man." When he looked at Manolo again, Manolo was smiling. He nudged at Manolo with an elbow. "Come on. Maria's going to beat us to my house." 

Maria beat them there anyway. She'd even found a candle somewhere. She stood in the doorway, watching as he and Manolo approached. The candlelight played upon her face; even with her expression illuminated, he couldn't read her look.

He fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable, wondering what she thought of the place. He hadn't really spent a lot of his time at the house over the years, not since his grandmother had died and he'd pretty much moved into the general's barracks with the other soldiers. It probably hadn't changed at all since she'd last visited when they were kids, except that he now had a bigger bed and his grandmother's bedroom was a storage space. He'd been paying Rosa Campos to keep the house clean, so at least it couldn't be dirty. He coughed.

"Well, uh, welcome to Casa Mondragon. Make yourself at home." 

Maria smiled at that. "Thank you, Joaquin." 

"Well, mi casa--"

"--es tu casa, yes, I remember." Her smile turned fond, and he flushed and nearly tripped again. 

Then Manolo yawned. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he laughed a little sheepishly, propping himself up against Joaquin's door-frame. He rubbed at his eyes. "It's okay if I just go to bed, right?" 

Maria laughed and picked up the bag of clothes from where she'd set it by the entrance. "No, I thought we'd stay up until dawn for a second night in a row. Yes, go and sleep." She kissed his cheek, and then he turned a little and caught her mouth against his.  

It was a quick kiss, but Joaquin still felt his stomach twist. He quickly looked around the room. Señora Campos had done her job. In fact, she probably deserved more money than he was paying her. He didn't see any dust at all. He said, still studying the furniture, "The bedroom is the second door to your left." He startled when arms wrapped around him, squeezing tight. Then he huffed out a laugh as Manolo yawned loudly in his ear, and relaxed. "Goodnight, Manny." 

"Goodnight," Manolo said, and yawned a third time, dropping his head to Joaquin's shoulder. He stayed there, his breathing beginning to slow, like he was falling asleep. His breath was warm against Joaquin's throat. He leaned a little more against Joaquin, his heavy, sleepy weight somehow reassuring.

Joaquin shivered when Manolo's lips brushed his neck. His stomach gave another weird twist, and he pushed Manolo away. Then, looking at Manolo's half-closed eyes, the drowsy flush on his face, he couldn't help but smile. Trust Manolo to insist he was fine and then fall asleep on his feet. Fondness caught in his chest.

He took Manolo by the shoulders and steered him towards the bedroom. He was aware of Maria following after them; he caught her smile when he turned his head towards her and said, "I think I have some extra blankets somewhere." He maneuvered Manolo to the bed, Manolo sprawling across it. He raised an eyebrow when Manolo flung an arm over his face and yawned, making no move to actually undress and barely stirring as Chuy jumped and curled up at the foot of the bed.

He glanced over at Maria, and then wished he hadn't, because the tender look she wore when she gazed at Manolo was like an unexpected blow. He turned away, moving over to his dresser and rummaging around for his night-shirt. 

"Need a little help?" When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Maria was kneeling by the bed. His arm still over his face, Manolo nodded. She set the candle down on the bedside table and then took Manolo's foot in her hands. She pried the shoes off carefully. Manolo mumbled a thank-you as she put the shoes under the bed. As though she'd forgotten Joaquin was there, Maria laughed and cupped Manolo's bare foot, dropping a kiss upon his ankle.

Joaquin turned hastily. "I'll just--" He walked into the door, hard enough that his ears rang and he saw stars. He blinked, still too unaccustomed by pain not to be stunned by it. He touched his forehead carefully, but there wasn't any blood, just an ache that would probably be a bruise in the morning.

Behind him, Maria said, startled, "Joaquin! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said, and finally managed to get out of the room. He shut the door behind him and sank against it, closing his eye. Still he couldn't stop thinking about the way Maria looked at Manolo, the easy affection in every gesture, the way she and Manolo touched each other. His chest hurt. He pressed a fist against where the ache was worst and shook his head. He shouldn't be so surprised by it. They loved each other, after all. Why wouldn't they look at each other like no one else existed?

It was only as he straightened that he realized he hadn't actually grabbed anything from his dresser. He frowned down at his uniform. Then he considered going back into the bedroom. He grimaced. He could sleep in his underclothes. It wouldn't even be the first time; the desert nights were cold. He headed towards the couch, walking slowly in the dark, still relearning the house.

Joaquin took off his medals, running his fingers over the cold metal and remembering how he'd described every single one to Maria the other night. He remembered her expression. She'd been humoring him, just like she'd humored his interest, not wanting to hurt him but not wanting...him. A tired laugh escaped him. It really was funny how he could see so clearly now. He shook his head and set the medals on the table. His hand hovered over the eye patch, but he left it on, uncomfortable at the idea that Manolo and Maria might see. Then he stripped, folding his uniform and setting it aside.

He dropped onto the couch, his legs dangling over the arm. He closed his eye and tried to sleep. He couldn't. His breathing seemed too loud in his ears, and his head ached, dully, where he'd hit it on the door. The strangeness of having Manolo and Maria sleeping in his bed was beginning to crowd out all his other thoughts. It seemed impossible that they'd agreed to his impulsive invitation, that they were both sleeping soundly in a bed he'd used only the night before. He shifted, suddenly too warm even without a blanket, embarrassed by the realization that they weren't even sleeping on fresh sheets.

Joaquin crept back to the bedroom, and knocked softly at the door. There was no answer. His chest tightened, and he thought-- well, he didn't know what he thought. "Maria? Manolo?" He opened the door and leaned inside. The candle was still lit; it caught on Manolo's hair, dark and loosened from its usual ponytail so that it was spread upon the pillow.

Maria, sitting upright, paused in the middle of smoothing down her nightdress. She looked towards him. Her hair was down as well, tumbling around her face. She smiled, but there seemed to be a question in her eyes. "Joaquin?" 

Joaquin forgot what he was going to say. He stared, and then realizing he was staring, and then, in a second realization, knew he should stop. Still, it was hard not to look, to stupidly want to keep this memory along with the others, though he had no right to this one. His mouth was dry. He felt dizzy, gripped the door-frame a little tighter to keep himself steady.  

"Joaquin?"

Maria's soft repeating of his name broke the spell. He gave himself a mental shake and then forced himself to stare past her shoulder, keeping his eye fixed at a distant spot and definitely nowhere near her bare arms and her throat. He licked his lips. It took a second to trust his voice. "There are clean sheets in my dresser if you want them."

Manolo stirred. He propped himself on an elbow and looked towards Joaquin. A drowsy smile spread slowly across his face. He pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "That's funny," he said. His voice was rough with sleep.

Joaquin blinked. "What's funny?"

"That you think we're going to let you sleep on the couch."

Frowning, Joaquin began, "Well, you're using the only bed...." He stopped as Manolo looked at him with a _well, yes_ expression. His chest went tight again. Incredulous laughter choked him. It wouldn't be the first time they'd all shared a bed, but the last time had been when they were six or seven, before the general had declared Maria too old to be sharing a bed with boys.

Joaquin looked over to Maria in a silent appeal. His stomach sank at her amused expression. He should have known better. Maria was always the one with the crazy ideas as a kid. She was probably proud of Manolo for coming up with one of his own. He shook his head. Slowly, fumbling for the right words, he said, "It'd be weird. We're not kids anymore. And you two--" His voice caught. He tried to smile. "You're married." 

Maria's expression softened, but all she said was, "Come to bed, Joaquin." When he didn't move, she raised an eyebrow. "Manolo and I won't be able to sleep if you're out on the couch."

Manolo assumed a solemn look, though he immediately spoiled the effect by laughing. He sat fully upright and patted the bed. "Maria's right. You invited us here so we could sleep, didn't you?"

"Okay, that's cheating, first of all, using our friendship against me," Joaquin said, pointing at them. He sighed when they both grinned. How had he forgotten that he always lost when Manolo and Maria took it into their heads to do something? Still, he shook his head and tried one more time. "Second, the couch isn't _that_ uncomfortable--" 

"Come to bed, Joaquin," Maria said again. This time she leaned past Manolo and picked up the corner of the blanket, holding it up in invitation. 

"I--"

They both looked at him. 

Despite the tight, strange feeling in his chest and the conviction that this was a terrible idea, Joaquin stepped into the room. He'd never really been able to refuse them. Sometimes he'd just managed to argue them into a compromise. He closed the door and walked slowly over to the bed, a little distracted by the way Manolo's grin turned brilliant, Maria's quietly satisfied. Did they really not think it was weird, sharing a bed? 

He got into the bed carefully, avoiding Chuy, who was snoring softly by Manolo's feet. He settled down on his side, facing the door, still uncomfortable and feeling a little ridiculous. The bed wasn't really big enough for three people; he had only the very edge of the pillow, and Manolo's knee kept digging into his back as Manolo moved around. Then Manolo's back pressed against his, warm even through his nightshirt. He remembered dancing at the wedding, still unsteady on his feet until he'd stumbled against Manolo and Manolo had leaned against him, bracing him and grinning. The tight feeling eased a little. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Manolo said. 

Joaquin closed his eye. The bed shifted again, and soft hair tickled his cheek. He opened his eye just as Maria kissed his forehead, gently, next to where he'd struck his head on the door. "Goodnight, Joaquin."

He couldn't answer her.

Beside him, Manolo asked plaintively, "Can I get a goodnight kiss too?" 

"You already got one," Maria said, laughing, but bent and kissed him too. "Sweet dreams." 

"They could never be as sweet as you," Manolo assured her, and Joaquin closed his eye again, smiling helplessly at Maria's amused laughter.

Manolo fell asleep first, his body relaxing against Joaquin's, his breaths coming slower and slower until he was sleeping just as soundly as before. He moved around in his sleep, his bare foot kicking lightly at Joaquin's. Joaquin wondered, a little amused, if Manolo would steal the blanket during the night and then apologize the next morning like he had as a kid.

Then Maria followed suit, blowing out the candle and settling against Manolo. After a few minutes, her slow breathing was a beat behind his.

The quiet, unsynchronized sounds tugged at Joaquin, half-lulling him to sleep. He resisted the pull, wanting to stay awake a little longer. He clutched at this feeling, this moment. It seemed more important than the other ones he'd tucked away to remember on the road, but somehow more fragile, like if he moved or breathed wrong he would ruin it.

Manolo was warm against him, and Maria's kiss seemed to linger on his cheek. Too hot for covers, he pushed the blanket back, blindly, so that it would cover Manolo and Maria instead. Affection twisted in his stomach again. "I'm going to miss you guys," he confessed in a whisper, knowing that they were both asleep and couldn't hear. The words scratched his throat. Then he let himself sleep, though his dreams were fragmented and strange.


	4. The Sweetness of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joaquin should've known that, once united, the three amigos couldn't (and wouldn't) be separated so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! 
> 
> I was hoping to wrap this up in four chapters but since this part has clocked in at nearly five thousand words and still isn't done, I'm just...going to pretend this was meant to be five chapters.

Joaquin woke up convinced that he was falling.

He groped blindly and grabbed air. For a second he braced for the impact. Then he realized that he was in bed, the mattress still and sturdy under him. Opening his eye, he blinked sleep away. Slowly, enlightenment dawned on him, and he grinned. Manolo had crowded him to the very edge of the bed, so that his arm and leg dangled off the side. Well, that explained the dream.

Manolo was a heavy weight against his back, his face pressed into Joaquin's shoulder. Sun came in through the window, warm on Joaquin's skin. He just laid there for a minute, content. Then his stomach pinched at him, demanding food.

He nudged at Manolo with his elbow. "Manny," he said, and nudged him again when Manolo made a protesting noise against his shoulder and didn't move. "Manny, get up."

"No," Manolo muttered, still not lifting his head. He patted at Joaquin's hip, a clumsy, half-awake touch. "Maria said we could sleep in." He laughed when Joaquin's stomach rumbled a complaint. "But breakfast would be good." Still, he moved away slowly, resting his cheek against Joaquin's shoulder for another second or two as though he needed to gather his strength and wake himself up a little more before he could sit upright.

When Joaquin rolled over, he stared at Manolo's hair. Instead of its usual perfection, his hair curled just so, it resembled a bird's nest. Tangled curls flew in every direction. Laughter welled in Joaquin's throat; he tried to swallow it down, but it was no use. His amusement escaped him in an explosive rush. He laughed so hard that the bed shook and tears came into his eye.

"What?" Manolo asked, laughing as well, though quieter, smiling but a little confused. He glanced over his shoulder, as though he thought Joaquin was laughing at something just past him.

Joaquin shook his head. He tried to say something, but laughter had stolen his breath. He slowly got himself under control. He reached out and touched Manolo's hair, the strands scratchy against his fingers, and watched understanding bloom on Manolo's face.

Manolo frowned. "Does it look that bad?" He turned a little into Joaquin's hand, staring towards the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. He made a face, and Joaquin had to bite back another laugh. "Oh."  

"You look ridiculous, my friend," Joaquin assured him cheerfully. He tried to smooth away some of the tangles, stopping when his fingers yanked on a knot and Manolo winced. "Sorry. Hang on. I've got a comb you can use."

"Joaquin," Manolo said.

Joaquin paused, halfway across the room.

When he turned, Manolo had a strange look on his face, one Joaquin didn't recognize. Then the look shifted to a familiar grin, warm and teasing. Manolo smoothed a hand over his tangled curls and gave a little toss of his head. He said, mock-solemn, "We'd better hurry. I suspect that Maria married me for my perfect hair, you know. What would she do if she saw me now?"

An amused voice came from the doorway. "Tell you that I'd love you even if you went bald, of course."

Joaquin jumped a little. He hadn't heard the door open. He smiled at Maria as she leaned in the doorway, barefoot and wearing a black dress. Her hair had been combed and plaited into a single braid. She looked comfortable in Joaquin's house, like she belonged. Looking at her, Joaquin's chest ached, but he kept smiling. "Morning, Maria."

Manolo, meanwhile, looked horrified. "No Sanchez man has _ever_ gone bald!" He touched his hair again and stared towards the mirror as though to reassure himself.

Joaquin and Maria exchanged a look, Maria's eyes bright with amusement, Joaquin suppressing a smirk. "I'm sure you'll keep up that tradition, Manny," he said. Reaching the dresser, he added, "Here," and tossed the comb in Manolo's direction.

"Thanks," Manolo said, catching it easily. He went to work on his hair with a look of absolute concentration.

Joaquin leaned against the dresser and watched, amused by the way Manolo furrowed his brow and a little mesmerized by the quick, certain movements of Manolo's hands and how fast he coaxed the shine back into his hair.

Manolo caught his lower lip between his teeth and half-scowled as he fought with a particularly stubborn knot. He paused, his expression softening, when Maria dropped a kiss upon his forehead and dangled a ribbon in front of him. Soon the tangled mess had been conquered and Manolo's hair was in a loose ponytail. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, and then bounded to his feet. "And what did you make for breakfast, my love?"  

"Wait, Maria cooked?" Joaquin said before he could think better of it. Maria's expression didn't change, but he winced, remembering how he'd stuck his foot in his mouth at the general's dinner. Thinking of the irritated glint in Maria's eyes, he rubbed at the back of his neck and smiled apologetically. "Not that I don't think you'd be a great cook! I just, uh, thought that you...." He trailed off, unsure how to avoid offending her.

A quick smile touched Maria's lips, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. At least she looked amused and not annoyed. That was something. "I can cook," she said. She shrugged. "The sisters taught me the basics. Remember, I went to Spain to become a _lady_." Although the sarcastic edge to the last sentence didn't seem directed at him, Joaquin winced anyway.

"I made breakfast yesterday. We decided to take turns," Manolo explained with a cheerful grin. "I'd cook sometimes for the Rodriguez brothers, when we were hiding from Papa and learning a new song." If Maria had told him how badly Joaquin had blundered at that dinner, he didn't say anything about it. Instead he turned to Maria and asked, "So what delicious breakfast are we having today?"

Maria smiled. She said, dryly, "Well, after looking through Joaquin's pantry, I have prepared for you bread and...more bread."

"Oh," Joaquin said. He thought of his near-empty pantry, and flushed. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry, I've been eating mostly at your father's house, so I haven't-- I could go to the market--"

"It's fine, Joaquin," Maria said, laughing and shaking her head at him. "I've missed San Angel bread. Besides, the market will be closed all morning, remember?"

"Oh, right." Joaquin darted a glance at Manolo. Reassured that Manolo didn't seem bothered by the reminder of the funeral, he said, "Bread it is, then. I'll meet you guys in the kitchen in a minute." Once they'd both gone, he inspected his mustache in the mirror.

Reassured that it looked as magnificent as ever, he ventured into the kitchen, where Manolo leaned against the counter, eating a slice of bread. Maria was perched on the counter-top, idly swinging her legs and breaking off pieces of bread from the loaf. She tossed the bread to Chuy, the pig seated expectantly at her feet.

At the sight of the plain bread in Maria's hands, Joaquin frowned. Some host he was, providing such a pitiful breakfast. "Guys, I'm sorry about the food. I'll go to the market later. Can I make you a meal after-- uh, well, can I cook you guys something this afternoon to make up for breakfast?"

Maria raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you cooked."

He grinned and gave a little bow. "Soldier, cook, possessor of a truly magnificent mustache-- I am a man of _many_  accomplishments, señora." Encouraged by her amused look, he added, "Besides, when you do a lot of traveling, you have to learn to cook. Unless you _really_  like canned food."

"I see," Maria said as she handed him a piece of bread. She looked at him thoughtfully. "You must have to pack a lot of food for your trips."

Joaquin shrugged. "Sure, to keep up this amount of muscle, I have to eat a lot." He flexed an arm automatically as Maria smiled. Then his stomach pinched at him, reminding him that he was talking a lot about eating but not actually doing it. He popped the bread into his mouth.

Manolo tilted his head to the side, thinking. "That's true. Whenever he's going away, he buys out half of Señora Cuevas's store." He paused and added slowly, "I suppose someone should let her know to expect you in a day or two...."

"Yeah, probably," Joaquin said, remembering how many supplies he’d brought for his last trip. Then he realized what Manolo had said. He looked between Manolo, who was watching him with the strange look from the bedroom, and Maria, whose expression was half-challenging. He rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to smile. "Oh. I guess Maria told you that I'm going after the surviving bandits. I was going to tell you. Just, uh, later...."

The corner of Manolo's mouth creased into something that wasn't a smile or a frown. He glanced at Maria and then said slowly, "That's...not how she phrased it, but yes, she told me you were leaving."

"Alone. To fight bandits without help," Maria added. Her voice was the dangerously even tone of before.

He remembered how she had pushed him against the tree, her expression dark with exasperated worry. He fidgeted, feeling like he had in school whenever he'd given the wrong answer and the sister had given him a disappointed look. This was worse though, because this was Maria and Manolo he was disappointing.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well... Just because Chakal's dead doesn't mean my work's done. I--"

"I, I, I, my, my, my," Maria said, throwing the words back at him. "Listen to him, Manolo. You'd think he defeated Chakal on his own, the way he talks."

Joaquin gaped. "No, that's not what I meant!"

Manolo looked solemn, nodding. "You're right, my love. It's obvious. He's going to tell everyone about Chakal's defeat and forget about us." He sighed and said mournfully, "It will be Joaquin and his magnificent mustache who saved the day, we'll be left out of the battle completely--"

"I'm not going to do that! I--" At the crinkling of Manolo's eyes, Joaquin realized Manolo and Maria were teasing him. He let out a deep, relieved sigh. It took a second for his heart to stop pounding. He shook his head and frowned. "Guys, don't _do_  that. I thought you really believed I'm that self-centered."  

"No," Maria said. She smiled at him, but it was a strange smile, a little rueful. "No, we know you aren't."

"But you _are_  being ridiculous," Manolo added. His bright smile took the sting out of the words. "We just got the three amigos back together and you want to break us up again." Before Joaquin could explain his reasons again, Manolo stepped away from the counter and clasped Joaquin's elbow, squeezing it gently. "We're coming with you."

Joaquin started to laugh. It died on his lips as Manolo and Maria looked at him, both still smiling, but neither of them laughing. He stared. "You're not serious."

Maria turned the loaf of bread over in her hands, just examining it for a moment. Then she looked up, a familiar determined glint in her eye. Joaquin knew that look. It meant she was going to get her way and to hell with the consequences. "I've seen so much of Europe, but nothing of Mexico. I didn't come back to San Angel to sit here and-- and--" Her lips thinned. "Be a meek, dutiful housewife," she said at last.

"Which is good, because that would get boring very quickly," Manolo said, smiling at her. Then he looked between her and Joaquin and squeezed Joaquin's arm again. "My two adventurers," he said, his voice soft and fond. Then he sighed loudly, assuming an overly mournful look that Joaquin now knew better than to take seriously. "You both have so many stories to tell! I've never been outside San Angel."

Joaquin blinked at him. "Uh, Manny--"

Manolo waggled a finger at the half-voiced protest. "Ah, ah, ah, the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten don't count. I want to see _Mexico_." Then he grinned and stepped back, leaning against the counter again. "Besides, how can I perfect the Ballad of San Angel if you're not there to help me?"

"Joaquin," Maria said softly. When he looked at her, the determined glint was still in her eyes, but her expression had softened. "Don’t you want us with you?"

"I--" Joaquin hesitated. He thought of all those cold desert nights, the lonely silences that would be broken by Manolo's music or Maria's stories, thought of looking across the fire and seeing Maria and Manolo smiling at him instead of shadows, and wanted it so badly that it terrified him. Still, he swallowed down the ‘yes’ caught in his throat, and shook his head. "You guys can't really want to spend your honeymoon chasing down Chakal's gang."

Maria laughed. "Why not? Sounds exciting to me."

Manolo leaned forward and said in a loud, confiding whisper, "Joaquin, I don't know if you've noticed, but Maria is a bit of an adventuress." He grinned when Maria rolled her eyes and kicked lightly at his hip with her bare foot. Then his expression turned serious. "Besides, it wouldn't be much of a honeymoon if we spent it worrying about you the entire time."

The sincerity touched Joaquin. All of his half-formed arguments fell out of his head. He looked between Manolo and Maria, seeing the earnestness in their faces. He should say no. He knew that he should say no. What would he do, if they survived defeating Chakal and then got hurt or worse against some random bandit? He should say no. They'd forgive him eventually.

What he said instead, hoarsely, was, "I-- okay. If you guys are sure, okay."

Maria leaped off the counter, smiling so brightly it dazzled him. She wrapped an arm around Joaquin and Manolo's necks, dragging them both down until Joaquin's jaw bumped against her cheek. When she spoke, the pleased, slightly teasing words reverberated through him. "Good! I’m glad you’re finally being sensible."

Her happiness was infectious. For a second he felt as light as he had when they'd danced together at the wedding. He couldn’t regret saying yes, not when Manolo and Maria both beamed at him. He had to close his eye, which prickled like he was about to cry, which would have been ridiculous.

Manolo's hand settled upon his hip, grounding him. A quiet, slightly watery laugh escaped Joaquin as Manolo added cheerfully, "Besides, we were going to follow you anyway if you said no."

“Of course you were,” Joaquin said, or tried to. He had to clear his throat once or twice before he could get the words out. He was smiling so fondly at them both that his face hurt. He could easily picture Maria and Manolo riding stubbornly after him and Plata, doggedly following them until he gave in. Fondness caught at his chest again.    

At their feet, Chuy let out a protesting grumble.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Chuy! Are you still hungry?” Maria asked.

As she knelt and gave Chuy an apologetic scratch behind his ears, Manolo stepped into the empty space Maria had left. He settled against Joaquin and draped an arm across his shoulders, grinning up at him.

Joaquin could feel the warmth of Manolo’s skin even through their underclothes. Their legs pressed against each other; Joaquin could feel the flex of his thigh as Manolo resettled his weight. Heat prickled under the collar of his undershirt. Maybe he should have changed before breakfast, he thought vaguely.

Manolo tugged at Joaquin until they both leaned against the counter. “You can’t get rid of us that easily, my friend,” he said. He was still smiling, but it was lopsided, like he was serious and trying not to show it.

“I don’t--” Joaquin stopped. Not for the first time, he wished he was better with words. Oh, he was fine with the speeches he’d given to towns over the years. Those speeches had been nice and short and had said the same thing every time: _You’re welcome, you’re safe, yes I am pretty great, now let’s have a party_. He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that Maria was looking at him too, her hands stilled in the middle of breaking off a piece of bread for Chuy. He resisted the urge to rub at the back of his neck or smooth a hand over his mustache.

“It’s not that I don’t want you guys around,” he said slowly. “It’s just-- I already lost you both once, I don’t want--”

Manolo’s arm tightened around him. His smile had softened. “Like I said. You can’t get rid of us that easily,” he said. He raised his free hand and waved it at the air in front of them as though conjuring something. “We’re writing our own stories, remember? And they’re going to be long. Long and amazing and _exciting_.”

“Yeah,” Joaquin said, his throat tight again as he tried to imagine it. “Yeah.”  

 

* * *

 

It was another three days before they could actually leave San Angel.

It had been simpler when he'd just needed supplies for himself and Plata, but Joaquin didn't mind, not when it meant that Maria and Manolo were going to be with him. It still seemed too good to be true. But they really were coming along, even if that meant that it took a bit more work to get out of town.

First, of course, there were the funerals. Then there was convincing Maria's father to let them go. Then there was rebuilding the gate as Maria taught the general the apparently intricate task of taking care of Chuy while they were gone. Then there was the hunt for two horses that could keep up with Plata. _Then_ there was gathering enough supplies from Señora Cuevas to last them on their journey until they reached the village Joaquin wanted to visit. It was a likely target for the surviving bandits. It wasn't connected to the railroad, making it an easy target, and it had been raided before. At the very least, the villagers might have heard rumors about where the bandits had fled to and would gladly pass along the information. 

But at last, everything was ready. Maria and Manolo were having one last meal with the general, and then they'd be off.

Joaquin looked over his packs one final time. Satisfied that he hadn't forgotten anything, he picked up his sombrero. It was only then, after all the hustle and bustle of the past few days, that he remembered Maria's bonnet, still tucked away safely in his hat. He took it out, and absently put his sombrero on. Then he turned the bonnet over in his hands and stared at it. What should he do with it now? He'd kept it safe all these years from the dirt and the sun, pulling it out on those lonely nights chasing bandits when San Angel had seemed very far away. He hadn't exaggerated when he'd told Maria it had kept him going all these years. It had tied him to San Angel in a way nothing else had, when he had been tired and even his memories had felt faded and worn-out.

"Joaquin?"

Joaquin flinched, nearly crumpling the bonnet in surprise. He turned towards Manolo, touched by guilt and the feeling that he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Fighting against the urge to hide the bonnet behind his back, he smiled awkwardly. "Oh, hey. Everything ready?"

"Yes," Manolo said, and then stopped, blinking. An incredulous smile crossed his face. He raised his hand as though to touch the hat, and then stopped himself. "Is that Maria's bonnet?"

"Um, yeah." An uncomfortable laugh scraped its way out of Joaquin's throat. At least Manolo didn't look disturbed by the realization that Joaquin still had Maria's bonnet; in fact, his incredulous smile had shifted to something fond and half-wistful, like he was remembering their farewell at the train station. Still, nerves gnawed at Joaquin's stomach. He turned the bonnet over again in his hands, slowly, and shrugged. "I'm not sure what to do with it."

"Ask Maria," Manolo said simply, and then reached out. This time his fingers brushed one of the dangling ribbons. "It's so small," he marveled. "I can't believe Maria was ever that small, can you?" Then he laughed, slapping lightly at Joaquin's shoulder. "It's hard to imagine _any_ of us were ever that small. Especially you!" He touched Joaquin's shoulder again, gently, and then repeated, "Maria will know what to do with it." He turned. "Maria!" 

"Yes?" Maria tested the ropes tying her packs to her mare's back one more time, and turned. She spotted the bonnet. The same startled but touched look from before returned to her face. "Oh! My bonnet. Did you know he'd kept it, Manolo?" 

"No," Manolo said. The corners of his eyes crinkled. He reached out again, but this time it was to touch the head of his guitar, strapped to his back. Running his fingers over the beloved gift, he kept smiling, like it didn't bother him at all how they'd fought over Maria, that he was somehow _pleased_ that Joaquin had carried around a sentimental keepsake for years. He waved a hand towards Joaquin and added, "Joaquin's not sure what to do with it." 

Maria's questioning gaze rose from the bonnet to Joaquin's face. 

Warmth crept up his throat. He forced the prickling, embarrassed heat away and shrugged again. He said, trying for another smile, "Seems a little silly to bring it along." 

Maria's expression warmed. "Well, of course! You've got me and Manolo now. We're much better than a bonnet." She took the hat from his unresisting hands as he tried to figure out what to say. Then she paused, seeing something in his face, maybe, and patted his cheek. She smiled up at him. "I'll put it inside." 

As she disappeared into the house, Joaquin finally noticed the gathering crowd. There was Sister Ana with the orphans, and Señora Campos and her daughter, and the general and his brigade, the last group all looking a little red-eyed. Clearing his throat, he nudged at Manolo and nodded towards General Posada. "How much do you think the general's going to cry when we leave?" 

"He cried all the way through breakfast," Manolo said, making a face. "It was pretty uncomfortable." 

"Can you blame him?" 

"No," Manolo agreed. His smile widened, a sudden flash of brilliance, his gaze softening.

Joaquin knew without looking that Maria was back even before she wrapped an arm around his and Manolo's necks and tugged them down to her level. Her teeth flashed in the early morning light as she smiled. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she looked, as always, so beautiful that Joaquin's chest hurt. She tipped her face up towards them. A quiet laugh escaped her, and she shook them both lightly. "Well, are you ready?"

"Yes," Manolo and Joaquin said as one, though their answer was half-lost as the general let out a wobbly, " _Maria!_ At least hug me g-goodbye!" 

As Maria sighed, affection sparkling in her eyes, and went to embrace her father one last time, Joaquin cleared his throat. He tried to look at Manolo from the corner of his eye, and then realized his mistake. He turned his head a little and cleared his throat again. He felt like he should say something, though he didn't know what. He settled for clapping Manolo on the shoulder and saying, "Hard to believe we're really doing this. Still not sure how much of a honeymoon this is for you guys--"

He stopped when Manolo laughed. Amusement tinged his voice. "What kind of honeymoon doesn't involve adventure and chasing down bandits?" Then the sincerity of that morning when he and Maria had announced their intention to come with Joaquin returned to his face. He patted Joaquin's hand, which Joaquin belatedly realized was still on Manolo's shoulder. His fingers, roughened by handling swords and his guitar, were warm. "I'm glad you said yes." 

Affection caught at Joaquin again, warm and low in his stomach. Before he could answer, Maria was back, springing smoothly into her saddle without assistance. Somehow she mounted the horse as though she'd had years of practice, avoiding catching her skirt on anything. He hadn't remembering riding lessons in her letters to her father. Not for the first time, Joaquin wondered about everything that the convent had taught her. She stared down at the two of them, smiling but with a hint of impatience in the purse of her lips. "Come on, guys. We're wasting sunlight." 

Joaquin bowed, grinning. "Yes, señora," he said, and then grinned wider as Manolo bowed as well and added, looking up at her from beneath his curls, "As you wish, my love."

Maria laughed at them both, shaking her head. Her mare pranced and snorted, infected by Maria's excitement. 

Joaquin leaped lightly into his saddle. Plata flicked a questioning ear at him, eyeing the two other horses curiously. Joaquin patted his neck. Unable to keep from grinning so widely that his entire face ached, he whispered, "Yeah, I know. This time we've got company. Amazing, right?" Then he urged Plata into a trot, automatically waving to the crowd.

Cries of, "Maria! Manolo! Joaquin! Good luck!" followed them past the rebuilt gate and across to the mainland, the general's voice the loudest of all. 

 

* * *

 

 

Joaquin kept them at a steady pace. Horses could go for ages without needing a rest if you didn't push them too hard, even horses that weren't quite as great as Plata. The journey was mostly quiet at first, the silence broken only by the wind in Joaquin's ears, the sound of the horses's hooves striking the dirt, and the occasional muttering from Manolo as he tried to arrange himself so he could ride and play his guitar at the same time. Somehow he managed not to tip himself into the dirt, though there were a few close calls.

After an hour or so, Manolo ended up seated side-saddle like Maria, crooking his leg over the horn and balancing there precariously. When Joaquin glanced at him, he looked pleased with himself. "Would you like to hear a little of the Ballad of San Angel?" Manolo asked. "What I have so far, I mean. This one is a work in progress."

"Of course!" Joaquin said. He smoothed a hand over his mustache and resisted the urge to pose dramatically. "You've been working on the parts about me, right?" The wind carried Maria's laughter to his ears and he added hastily, "Ah, and Maria, of course."

Manolo grinned. "No, I changed my mind. The ballad is now all about me." Before Joaquin could do more than chuckle, Manolo began to play. Instead of Joaquin or Maria, though, he sang about the townspeople standing up against Chakal and his bandits. The affection for the people of San Angel softened his voice and poured out of the guitar.

Joaquin's amusement faded to something else, something he couldn't put a name to. It wasn't homesickness, exactly, but something close to it. He was torn between relief and regret when Manolo stopped. 

Maria nudged her mare closer to Manolo, reaching out and stroking his hair. It was a wonder that he didn't fall out of his saddle leaning into her touch, Joaquin thought as he watched them, still feeling that nameless emotion gripping him. "My amazing guitarrista," she said tenderly. Then she looked up, over Manolo's shoulder, her gaze meeting Joaquin's. He flushed, feeling like he'd been intruding, but her smile only widened. "Isn't he wonderful, Joaquin?"

"Uh," Joaquin said. The question jerked him from the strange spell he'd fallen under, listening to Manolo's music. It was an easy question to answer, at least. If he'd been closer to them, he would've clapped Manolo's shoulder. He settled for grinning and saying, "Of course. Best guitarrista in Mexico!" He dragged his eye away from them, remembering their mission. "Hey, we're making good time. Just let me know when you guys are hungry. We can probably ride for another hour or two before the horses need a break." He patted Plata's neck, and Plata snorted at him, eyeing the other two horses as though to say,  _Don't lump me in with these two._

"Joaquin," Maria said, drawing his attention back to her. "Tomorrow, before breakfast, I thought we could practice together."

Joaquin blinked at her. It shouldn't have been a surprise; she'd expressed an interest in practicing again the day before, but her training of the general had taken longer than expected. He could even see the two practice swords strapped to her packs now that he looked for them. Still, the suggestion somehow caught him off-guard. He remembered her graceful movements the day after the funeral as she'd lunged and leaped around him. Unbidden, he remembered Manolo too, his footwork light and effortless as he sidestepped the bull's charge during the bullfight. They both fought like they were dancing, listening to some inner music. His face warmed again.

When she raised an eyebrow, he realized he hadn't answered her. He nodded, a little jerkily. "Sure. We don't want to be rusty when we finally track down the bandits." 

"Of course," Maria said, nodding and looking mock-solemn.

Everything was quiet for a moment. Then he grinned at her. "So," he said, drawing out the word. "Fencing, martial arts, cooking.... What else did you learn in Europe?"

A familiar mischief lit up Maria's face. She looked at him sidelong, her lips drawing back into a challenging smile. "A lot. Care for a demonstration?"

"Oh yeah," Joaquin said, excitement warm in his stomach.

Maria grinned and urged her mare into a gallop, somehow still seated side-saddle. For a second he just watched her, admiring her balance. Then Plata pranced a little, fixing Joaquin with an eager, questioning look in his dark eyes. Joaquin laughed again and slapped his neck. "Come on, let's show her how we ride in Mexico." At a press of his knees, Plata was off, fairly flying over the dirt.

The wind roared in Joaquin's ears, but beneath the sound he heard, faintly, Manolo's laughing protest, "Hey, wait up! I'm not used to riding this way! Maria! Joaquin! This is totally cheating, you know!"     


	5. Fractured Songs Made Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, there's still no retreat or surrender, even from things that scare him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy the conclusion to the fic and have a happy new year. 
> 
> The line Manolo sings is altered from Alejandro Fernandez's "Canta Corazon (Sing Heart)" because I...can't write songs. Just consider it a homage to the movie, please, ha. 
> 
> Thanks goes out to vejii for talking me through the most of the fic and encouraging me to finish it.

During all his years of traveling, Joaquin had never liked the desert nights.

They were too quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional snuffling snort from Plata as he dreamed, or the crackling of the low-banked fire. The quiet had made the desert seem endless and empty, though Joaquin had known that beyond the desert's boundaries lay San Angel, and that the desert was full of life, just hidden or sleeping.

This particular desert night was different than all the others, of course. For one thing, it wasn't quiet. At the other side of the campfire, Manolo hummed a wordless tune as he scoured the dirty pots and plates. He'd insisted. Joaquin and Maria had cooked, that meant Manolo would clean. He'd stripped down to his undershirt; his arms flexed as he scrubbed. He smiled and paused as Maria rested her chin on his shoulder.

Leaning her weight against his back, her arms wrapped loosely around Manolo’s waist, she surveyed his handiwork. Her lips pursed. Then she pointed and laughingly informed him that he’d missed a spot.

Joaquin smiled, watching them. It still seemed too good to be true, having them here with him. He felt as though if he closed his eyes for too long he’d discover that this was just a pleasant dream. He shook himself free of the stupor that had fallen over him after supper, when the fire and his full stomach had half-lulled him to sleep.

He got to his feet as Manolo frowned into the pot like it had personally insulted him. "Need a hand there, Manolo?"

Manolo's expression cleared. He grinned and shook his head. "Thank you, but I think I can handle a few pots."

Maria kissed Manolo's cheek and then stepped away. "In that case, I'm going to do some exercises before bed."

"Exercises?" Joaquin asked, interested. It was a little late in the evening, but he still found himself glancing towards Maria's packs and the practice blades there.   

"Martial arts exercises," Maria said, to his disappointment. Then she paused, giving both Joaquin and Manolo a slow, considering look. The mischievous curve of her lips was familiar. She added, slowly, "You know, I _could_ teach you both if you wanted...."  

Joaquin remembered imagining Maria instructing the awe-faced orphans, correcting their stances and adjusting their grips on the practice swords. It was just as easy to picture him and Manolo in their place, Manolo smiling as Maria touched his back and rearranged him into a new position. Anticipation warmed Joaquin's stomach. He shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “Well, I’m up for it as long as it means I get to be part of your future brigade, capitánana.”

He dodged her fist. “Joaquin!” Amused exasperation colored her voice. She said, “For the last time, I am _not_ creating a brigade. I just want the orphans to know self-defense, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” Joaquin said. Not wanting another punch, he kept the disbelief out of his voice. Then he thought of the orphanage. If Maria and Manolo had remained behind, she would have probably started the children’s training by now. He rubbed at his jaw. “I’m sorry we left San Angel before you could teach them anything. I just didn’t want to give the bandits too much of a head start.”

Maria smiled. “Oh, I already started everyone on the basics.” She laughed softly at his surprise. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “What did you think I was doing while you and Manolo helped repair the gate? It didn’t take me all day to show Papa how to take care of Chuy.”

“Right, of course not,” Joaquin said, though he’d assumed exactly that. Her training the kids probably explained why none of them had gotten underfoot during the rebuilding, though. He grinned and offered Maria a little bow. “Well, I’m ready whenever you are.”

Maria didn't answer at first. Instead she studied him again, an appraising gaze that made him want to touch his mustache and assure himself that there weren't any crumbs caught there from supper. "You might want to take off a few layers," she said at last.

He brought a hand to his chest instinctively. The medals felt almost cold against his fingertips. He remembered recounting the story of each medal to her, and Maria's indulgent smile. Something like embarrassment twisted in his gut. He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Except in emergencies, I always fight in full uniform. Shouldn't I train wearing it? That's how your father taught me."

Maria looked thoughtful for a moment, her head tilted to one side like a bird. Then she smiled. "How about a compromise? Don't wear your uniform for the first few lessons, until I'm sure that you're doing the exercises correctly. Once I think you've got it, you can get back into uniform."

That didn't sound too bad. Besides, Joaquin would look pretty ridiculous if he did the training wrong just because he felt strange without his uniform. He grinned. "It's a deal."  

 

* * *

 

Joaquin realized his mistake almost immediately.

Maria had announced that she needed to change, and slipped around to the other side of the fire. Joaquin hadn't really considered what she was changing into, too busy taking off his coat and folding it carefully, the familiar clink of the medals against each other reassuring somehow.

Then Manolo had said, "Oh," in a tone he'd never heard before, like he’d just had his breath knocked out of him.

Joaquin had turned to find Maria smiling at them in some short-sleeved outfit with _pants_. The white fabric was loose but still showed most of Maria's arms and ankles. Her feet were bare; her toes dug into the dirt as she folded her arms against her chest and raised an eyebrow. When they both just stared at her, she laughed. "Well? Are you two ready?"

Joaquin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat felt dry. It seemed like hours since he'd had that cup of wine with his supper. He wondered if it was too late to make some excuse and just let Manolo and Maria do the exercises, because this was going to be even worse than that first fencing practice. He should stop staring, but it was impossible to look away.

Maria's belt was cinched tight at her waist, her hair pulled up into another ponytail. When she took a step closer, her entire body swayed with the movement. Her pants rode up, flashing more of her legs. Somehow she looked exactly like the Maria he'd always known and yet a complete stranger too, a Maria who had loved and experienced so much of Europe, who'd learned fencing and kung fu and horseback riding and who knew what else.

Her smile flashed sweet and dangerous all at once in the firelight. "Well?"

Next to him, Manolo coughed. Maybe his throat felt like Joaquin's, because when he spoke, Manolo's voice sounded rough. "Yes. Ready."

It only got worse from there.

Joaquin had imagined Maria adjusting Manolo's stance. He hadn't thought about how often she would touch _him_. But then she stepped close, tipping her head up to smile at him. "We're going to work on breathing first," she said. One of her hands rested upon his lower back, the other upon his stomach. Her hands were very warm even through his thin shirt.

He swallowed, his throat still dry. "Um, Maria? I know how to breathe," he said, though in that moment he wasn't sure that was true. His chest felt tight. When he drew in a shallow, unsteady breath, he was dizzied by the firm press of her hands and the smell of smoke lingering in her hair.

Maria's smile widened. "You know how to breathe when you're fighting with a sword," she corrected. "Martial arts use a different type of breathing. Now, take two deep breaths, one normally, and one like you would when you're about to lunge against an enemy."

Joaquin obeyed, caught in Maria's grip, his chest still tight and strange. He was both relieved and disappointed when she nodded and stepped away to do the same thing to Manolo, who grinned at her even as he obediently took two deep breaths. Joaquin tried to get a grip. What was he doing, besides acting like an idiot? He had to stop. Maria had chosen Manolo. They were _married_. He had to stop, or else he'd ruin the precious friendships he'd already come so close to losing before.

He just needed to train himself out of the way his chest got tight whenever Maria touched him, how his heart still hurt a little every time he looked at Manolo and Maria together. He repeated this to himself, silently, the entire time Maria took them through the exercises, walking them slowly through a handful of stances.

It was a relief when Maria finally said, "Well, that will do for the first lesson." She sounded satisfied. When Joaquin looked at her, she was smiling. She stretched, rising to her tiptoes as she yawned and extended her hands high above her head. Then she paused, her face tipped up towards the sky. Her smile softened. "Oh! The stars are so beautiful tonight. You can't see them half so well in cities, you know."

Manolo looked up. His expression changed as well. He was quiet for a second, just looking. Then his gaze lowered, resting on Maria, and Joaquin knew he was going to say something sentimental even before he spoke. "They're not as beautiful as you, my love, but they are very--" Manolo broke off, laughing, as Maria slapped lightly at his shoulder.

"Flatterer," she scolded, smiling. Then she turned to Joaquin, her look expectant. "Well? Aren't they beautiful?"

"Oh, sure," Joaquin said. It must not have sounded enthusiastic enough, though, because Maria raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. The stars were pretty, he guessed, but they were dull compared to the brightness of Maria's smile and the gleam in Manolo's eyes as he watched her. Joaquin rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged again. He said slowly, feeling a little silly, "I don't know, I guess they are. They just seem pretty far away."

"I--" Manolo began, and interrupted himself with a yawn. He grinned ruefully. "I know the horses did most of the work, but I'm still tired. I think I'm going to find wherever I packed my bedroll and sleep." He slipped an arm around Maria's waist, and kissed her, first on the cheek, chaste, and then on the mouth, far less so.

As Maria laughed into the kiss, Joaquin hastily turned back towards the fire. He crouched in front of the fire, double-checking that it would last the night. They didn't need an enormous bonfire, just something big enough to keep away predators. Still looking at the flames, Joaquin said, "I'll take first watch. Just let me know who's going next-- uh, just let me know who's taking the second shift, okay?"

"I'll take the second shift," Maria said. Joaquin repressed a startled jump, because her voice was very close. She rested her hand on Joaquin's shoulder, and he paused in mid-turn. She'd come up on his blind side. When he turned his head, her smile was soft. "And we'll set up your bedroll for you."

He smiled back, ignoring the ridiculous flutter of his heart. "Thanks." He closed his eyes at the light brush of her lips against his cheek. His eyes were still shut when a familiar pair of arms wrapped around his chest. He grinned a little and reached back to blindly pat Manolo. His hand touched Manolo's cheek, his fingertips brushing Manolo's ear. He felt Manolo laugh against his palm. "Good night, Manny."

"Good night, Joaquin."

 

* * *

 

 

His shift passed slowly, but even left to his own thoughts, the desert didn't seem as endless or lonely as before. Every time loneliness tried to touch him, he reminded himself that Maria and Manolo were here. If he strained his ears and listened, he could hear their soft breathing, and the rustle of Manolo's bedroll as he tossed and mumbled in his sleep.

When Joaquin went to wake Maria for her shift, he saw that Manolo and Maria had curled into a joint embrace, their foreheads pressed against each other, Manolo's hand resting on the small of Maria's back. The firelight illuminated their dreaming faces and the steady rise and fall of their chests.

He knelt beside them, just watching, still unable to believe his good fortune that they were both alive and here with him. More and more the first few hours of the Day of the Dead seemed like a bad dream, though he knew that it had all really happened, that Manolo had really died and challenged a god to return to Maria. For the first time he thought to wonder if there were scars on Maria and Manolo's legs where Xibalba's snakes had bitten them.

Joaquin reached out to wake Maria. He hesitated as she sighed and shifted in her sleep, her arm curling tighter around Manolo's shoulders. Her ring caught in the firelight and glittered gold. He thought of the engagement ring he'd bought, now tucked away in one of his packs. He winced a little, remembering his cheerful optimism as he'd bought the ring and the jeweler's amused smile as he'd told her how he was going to marry the most beautiful woman in all of Mexico. It was probably a boast she'd heard countless times. She couldn't have known that Joaquin had been speaking the truth about Maria's beauty. He wondered if the jeweler would say anything when he returned the ring, or if she'd be kind enough to say nothing.

After they'd tracked down the bandits, maybe he'd suggest that they visit Mexico City. He could return the ring. And surely Maria would want to see the capital. For a moment he let himself imagine the delight on Maria's face as he showed her the Casa de los Azulejos, El Ángel, Chapultepec Forest, the National Library.... It was as fine as a city as any in Europe. She and Manolo would love it. 

He dropped his hand to his side. He didn't have the heart to wake her, not when she and Manolo fitted together like they were made for each other. Besides, he wasn't _that_ tired. He could do another shift, and let them rest a little longer. He started to straighten. Then he paused as Maria murmured sleepily, "Time for my shift?" When he looked back at her, he was caught by Maria's drowsy gaze. He was glad for the dark, which hid the guilty warmth that rushed to his face. How long had she been awake? Had she caught him staring? He hoped she hadn't. Considering it, he figured that it was probably a little weird, him watching them while they slept.

He bent down, whispering, "No, not yet, go back to sleep."

But Maria was already sitting up, Manolo's hand sliding away from her back. She brushed a few curls away from her face and yawned. Her smile was sleepy but sweet. Joaquin felt a rush of relief. She must have just woken up. She said, "I guess nothing exciting happened during your shift."

Joaquin feigned surprise. "You mean you and Manolo slept through me fighting off twenty bandits? Wow, you guys sure are heavy sleepers." As she laughed, he helped her to her feet and added, "Nah, it's been quiet."

Maria's smile widened. "Good." Her hand was warm; when he went to pull away, she tightened her grip. She looked more awake now. She raised her chin, her eyes meeting his. There was an odd look on her face, half-searching. Her smile shifted to something quiet and tentative. "Joaquin," she said slowly, and stopped. Her brow creased. "You know that you don't have to wear your eye-patch when you sleep, right?"

He nearly touched the eye-patch, but caught himself. Still his hand twitched at his side, and he knew that she'd seen the gesture. He shrugged and tried to smile. He was suddenly too aware of the patch, the way the strap rubbed and irritated his skin. The patch itself was probably dusty and grimy-looking from their journey, too, now that he thought about it. He'd have to clean it at some point, he thought vaguely, and then realized he hadn't answered her question. "Well. I mean, I don't want to get dirt in--" He hesitated. "I could take it off, if you want."

Maria smiled at him, her expression full of soft affection. As she had when they'd fenced, she reached out and traced the eye-patch's outline with her fingers. He held very still beneath her touch, conscious of Manolo still asleep at their feet. "You don't have to, if it bothers you," she said. Her voice was very quiet. "Manolo and I just want you to feel comfortable, that's all."

He didn't know what to think about the fact that she and Manolo had discussed his eye-patch. He remembered Manolo reaching out to touch it and how he'd flinched from Manolo's hand. He wanted to explain that he didn't regret losing his eye, that he'd have gladly given up both eyes to keep Manolo alive, but the words wouldn't come. He swallowed. "Okay," he said instead. He took a step back, her fingers brushing his cheek before her hand dropped away. He tried another smile. "Maybe tomorrow."

"All right," Maria said, but the crease lingered between her eyes.

Joaquin turned, and then stopped. He looked once, squinting with his remaining eye, and then again, but the only bedrolls he saw were Maria's empty one and the one in which Manolo was currently ensconced. He scratched at his jaw. "Uh, did you guys forget to set up my bedroll...?"

"Oh, that." When he looked at her, Maria's smile was back in full force, a familiar gleam in her eyes. She shrugged one shoulder. "We thought you could use mine." His expression must have changed, because she giggled, a sudden outburst of mirth. "It's not _that_ strange! Besides, if only two of us are sleeping at a time, why not use two bedrolls and then use the third as an extra cover?"

"Extra covers are good," Manolo said at their feet, his tone plaintive. "I'm cold." When Joaquin looked down, wondering how long Manolo had been awake, Manolo stared up at him with an expression of woe. He even shivered for emphasis, clutching at the blankets he'd wrapped around his shoulders and adding another mournful, " _Very_ cold."

Joaquin crouched next to him, unable to keep from smiling at Manolo's dramatic complaints. The tightness in his chest eased, replaced by affection. He touched the back of Manolo's neck, resting his palm against the exposed skin. He ran his thumb over the soft hairs there and said, grinning, "Nice try. You don't even have goosebumps."

Manolo didn't say anything, just looked at him from under his lashes, his expression pensive, as though he wondered how far he could take his theatrics. Then he grinned, a crooked sideways smile. He seized Joaquin's shoulders and pulled.

Joaquin, precariously balanced on the balls of his feet and caught off-guard, went down like a ton of bricks. "Hey," he protested through a mouthful of blanket. Behind him, Maria was laughing. He lifted his head and rolled his eye at Manolo's satisfied look. "Very funny." He reached out, tousling Manolo's hair in revenge, and grinned as Manolo slapped at his hands. Dodging Manolo's blows, he laughed. "What? You have a bit of bedhead going, buddy, I'm just trying to help." He swiped at a particular curl that had fallen in front of Manolo's eyes.

This time Manolo grabbed his wrist. His other hand settled against Joaquin's chest, palm flat against his shirt. Joaquin hadn't forgotten how strong Manolo was, exactly, but he was still a little startled at the power behind the gesture. He held still, catching his breath. Manolo's hands were warm even through Joaquin's undershirt; he could feel the calluses on Manolo's fingers as they rubbed against his wrist.

"Giving up?" he asked, grinning.

To his surprise, Manolo's expression changed, shifting to the same unreadable look from the bedroom. He opened his mouth, and then hesitated. He glanced over Joaquin's shoulder, to where Maria still stood. The odd expression lingered. There was almost a question in his eyes now.

"Joaquin," he said.

Joaquin's name sounded a little weird, the way Manolo said it, but familiar too. After a second Joaquin realized why. Manolo sounded like Maria when she'd tried to discuss Joaquin's eye-patch. He sighed. Did they really have to talk about it again? "You don't have to say anything. Maria already told me," he said. He blinked at the way Manolo's hand suddenly clenched on his wrist and how some of the color went from Manolo's face. "What? I told her I'd take off my eye-patch tomorrow night, since it, uh. Since it bothers you guys. It's not--"

"Your eye-patch," Manolo echoed, and then made a weird sound, like he was laughing but not. "No, that's not what I...." He stopped again and shook his head. Frustration crept into his expression. His hand pressed harder against Joaquin's chest, fingers digging into his shirt like he was trying to hold Joaquin still, though Joaquin hadn't moved.

"Then what? What's bothering you?" Joaquin reached out and patted Manolo's hand, the one half-clutching at his chest. Manolo's frustration was infectious, or maybe it was just that Joaquin hated seeing the strain in his face and the unhappy tension in his shoulders. He tried to think of what might be wrong. Maybe Manolo had changed his mind about wanting to go after the bandits?

Joaquin's stomach twisted as another thought struck him. What if he hadn't hidden how much Maria's touch still affected him? What if Manolo had noticed and was bothered by it? His throat tightened. He imagined Manolo saying he'd changed his mind, that he thought maybe he and Maria should go back to San Angel. He said, quietly, "Talk to me. Please."

Manolo's mouth twisted into a funny shape. "I don't know how to talk about this," he said, the words almost a whisper.

"Then don't," Maria said, suddenly standing next to them, on Joaquin's good side.

When he looked at her, wondering if she knew what was going on in Manolo's head, she smiled. Some of his anxiety eased, just a little, at the reassurance in her expression. Surely things couldn't be a worst-case scenario when Maria could still smile like that. She knelt beside them, uncaring of the dirt that stained her nightdress. She held Manolo's guitar in one hand. The other hand settled upon Joaquin's back, her hand warm between his shoulder-blades.

Joaquin had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Only that wasn't really right, because before it had been Manolo, surrounded by his parents and Maria, and Joaquin on the outside, watching. He tried to smile back, but he didn't think he succeeded, too aware of Manolo's tense, motionless hands and the frown that still twisted Manolo's face.

Maria held out the guitar to Manolo. Her smile was soft. "Sing instead," she said.

For a second Manolo didn't move. Then his hands left Joaquin's chest and wrist, cool air replacing their warmth. As he took the guitar, something relaxed in his shoulders. A smile spread across his face, faint and struggling but there. Manolo took Maria's hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, so tenderly that Joaquin's chest tightened, watching. "You're brilliant, my love."

"Of course I am," Maria said, her smile touched briefly with humor. Then her expression settled into a quiet, focused look. For a second Joaquin would have sworn that she stroked her fingers up his spine, a quick, feather-light touch. But then her hand was gone from his back. She nudged at him, knocking a fist against his knee until he understood what she wanted. He crossed his legs and sat down.

She settled against his side like they used to when Manolo was first learning how to play his guitar. They would sit and listen to him pluck determinedly at the strings, learning the notes, both like and unlike the way he now tuned his guitar. Manolo stood and paced, three steps away and then three steps back, his hands moving quickly and nervously over the strings.

Joaquin wanted to take him by the elbow and tell him to calm down, that everything was fine. But everything obviously wasn't, not when Manolo kept frowning at the guitar. He stayed quiet, Maria's knee pressed against his. She rested her head upon his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek. His chest hurt again; he was overwhelmed with tenderness. He ached, wanting to hold her close, but also wanting space so that he could think clearly.

He wondered what Manolo thought, looking at them together. The conflicted feelings knotted his stomach. He closed his eye and didn't move, listening to the quiet notes Manolo drew from the strings.

Maria's hand touched his other shoulder. When he turned his head, her eyes met his. He was caught by the intensity of her gaze. She studied him for a moment, like she wished she could read his mind. Biting her lip, she said, “Joaquin. Promise me that you'll listen to Manolo's song. All of it.”

Joaquin managed a smile at that, though he didn't really understand the request. Did she think that he was going to run off as soon as Manolo told him to get over her? He hadn't run away when they'd gotten married. He wouldn't now. He wondered suddenly if that was what she'd thought his plan to go after the bandits alone had been. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. He said instead, "I promise," and was rewarded by a grateful smile.

"Okay," Manolo said. When Joaquin looked at him, he was still frowning down at his guitar. He took a deep breath, not looking at either Joaquin or Maria. "Okay." Then he began to play.

Joaquin frowned. The melody was familiar, tugging at his memory. It almost sounded like the song Manolo had sung to Maria at the balcony. It couldn't be, of course. He closed his eye, trying not to think about how stupid he'd been, panicking as Maria had smiled down at Manolo, knowing that he was losing her. He'd thought that if he just proposed first, that she would choose him instead, as though Maria could ever have been dazzled by some ring.

Manolo's voice filled the air, soft but scratchy. He sang of love, the kind that overwhelmed and emptied you of everything but tenderness, that left you struggling to speak because words felt inadequate. Joaquin knew without looking that Manolo was smiling at Maria, his face soft with adoration. His chest ached again, worse than before, like his heart would burst from pain. He shouldn't have agreed to let Maria and Manolo come with him to chase down the bandits. With time and distance, maybe he would've been able to control himself better, not upset Manolo--

Maria's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Joaquin," she whispered urgently. "Joaquin, you're not paying _attention_."

"I am," he said. He opened his eye. The rest of his argument caught in his throat. At some point between Joaquin closing his eye and now, Manolo had knelt in front of them. He was smiling. At Maria, of course, but the smile encompassed Joaquin too, and there was something in the tentative curve of his lips, a softness in his eyes, that stole Joaquin's breath and made him think, _Oh_. 

It was like a blow to the head, this revelation. He'd thought he'd seen clearly before, but he'd been wrong. He'd still been blind. He hadn't seen the affection that shone in Manolo's eyes, the tenderness that wasn't for Maria alone if Joaquin had only looked. All this time Joaquin had thought Maria had had to choose between them, with someone left behind. He'd never considered she might want them  _both,_  or that Manolo would want him. He hadn't even recognized his own feelings, that the rush of affection he felt whenever he looked at Manolo was friendship, of course, but also something else entirely.

His chest hurt again, but it was a new pain, hope clenched tight around his heart like a fist. He sat there like a stone, heavy with longing.  

Manolo met his gaze. Whatever he saw in Joaquin's face made him fumble with the guitar. It protested with an off-key warbling note. Then Manolo's smile grew, until it lit up his entire face. Joaquin's vision swam and blurred with hot tears as Manolo sang, rough-voiced with sincerity, "Sing, heart, because the loves of my life are already here."

"Manolo," Joaquin said, hoarsely, because if Manolo said another word he really was going to start crying. Already his throat was tight, his eyelashes wet with half-shed tears. He groped blindly, still feeling strangely heavy as he clutched at Maria's hand and reached out for Manolo. After a second, Manolo's hand clasped his and held on tight. He tried to speak, but a watery laugh escaped him instead. Then he thought of San Angel, of Maria's father and everyone else, what they would think if they knew, and sobered. "Can we, uh, do this? It's not exactly, um--"

"We're writing our own stories, remember?" Maria said. "Forging our own paths." The resolve in her voice steadied him. Her other hand touched his cheek then, brushing the tears away. He blinked, once, twice, until he could see. She stroked his cheek again, a slow, tender sweep of her fingers that made him grow hot beneath the collar of his shirt. a sweet and dangerous smile curved her lips. "And I'd like to see anyone try and tell me I can't have both of my boys." 

Joaquin kissed her. In his eagerness, he half-missed her smiling mouth. He kissed the corner of her lips instead. He drew back a little, face hot, about to apologize. That hadn't been anything like he'd imagined. In all his daydreams he'd been suave, sweeping Maria off her feet like, well, like Manolo had when he'd emerged from the Land of the Forgotten and kissed her.

Then Maria laughed, a bright, ringing shout of laughter. She leaned forward. Then they were kissing the way he'd wanted, warm and eager, breathing roughly against each other's lips, neither wanting to stop. Maria hummed a satisfied sound against his mouth, her hand curled around the back of his neck to hold him still. They kissed until Joaquin was breathless. Then Maria broke away, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling.

Joaquin smiled helplessly at her. He'd always known she was beautiful, but now, her hair in disarray, her nightdress half-falling from her shoulder, affection and desire plain on her face, she was beyond beautiful. He swallowed, thickly, still half-doubting that this could be real, that he could have this with them. He clutched at Manolo's hand. "We sure lucked out, Manolo," he whispered.

"We did," Manolo agreed. When Joaquin turned, Manolo was very close, his eyes dark. He'd set his guitar aside. For a second Joaquin just looked at him, studying Manolo's features that were as beloved as Maria's, marveling at the desire that now seemed so obvious in Manolo's face. How long had Manolo looked at him like this, he wondered. How long had he mistaken the love in Manolo's face for friendship, and only friendship.

Then Manolo kissed him, his mouth hot and desperate, and Joaquin couldn't wonder anymore. Manolo showered kisses upon Joaquin's mouth, his jaw, and then, after a second's hesitation, pressed a light, almost shy kiss to Joaquin's eye-patch. 

A groan escaped Joaquin at that last kiss. He thought that this time he might really burst. His vision swam again. He gave in to the desire that had grown in him with every kiss. He swept both Manolo and Maria into his arms, Maria giggling as she half-fell into his lap. She bumped shoulders with Manolo, who'd overbalanced and fallen heavily against Joaquin's chest. They both clutched at him, still laughing, warm, heavy weights that kept him grounded, because now he felt as light as air. He held them close, not wanting to ever let go, pressing his hot face against Maria's curls.

Maria smoothed a hand over his hair. When he raised his head, she smiled at him. She leaned forward and kissed his eye-patch as well, not tentatively, but firmly, like she was making a point he'd missed. "If you ask me, I think I'm the lucky one," she said, her breath soft against his skin. Her hands came to rest gently against his and Manolo's cheeks. "My beautiful boys."

For a second Joaquin couldn't speak, overwhelmed. He took a deep breath, but it strained in his chest. He took another breath, and this time it caught in his throat, thick with tears. He swallowed. "Maria. Manolo. I love you both so much," he managed at last. Then he really did cry, a single heaving sob that shook his entire frame. Manolo made an alarmed sound. He shook his head quickly, laughing a little through his tears. "I'm okay, I just, you guys--"

Words failed him, and he smiled helplessly at them. 

Understanding bloomed upon Manolo's face. He pressed a hand to Joaquin's chest, where his heart beat a joyous tempo. Maria leaned against Joaquin's shoulder, her face tipped towards his. The corners of Manolo's eyes crinkled as he looking at them. The smile he wore put all the stars to shame, and Joaquin knew _this_ moment was what he would carry with him forever: Manolo's brilliant smile, and Maria's expectant look, and the way they both felt right in his arms.

"Sing, my heart," Joaquin said softly, speaking rather than singing the words, and kissed them both.


End file.
